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ijustmissyouraccenths · 3 months ago

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Venom & Honey

Where Harry, a serial killer, believes he’s found someone exactly like him.

Content warnings: mentions of murder, blood, knives, cutting, and cursing.

Word count: 9.7k

Been working on this for a while and can’t believe it’s finally coming out 🥹

The first time Harry sees her, she's at the bar's far end, tucked into a corner where people vanish. Not literally—Harry knows what vanishing looks like—but in that subtle way quiet people fade when the world ignores them.

She sips wine, fingers curled around the stem, eyes down. Soft. Out of place. She doesn't fit in this town, in this bar reeking of whiskey and salt air.

Yet, there she is.

Something draws him. Maybe it's how she shifts when someone passes, shoulders tensing before relaxing. Maybe it's her parted lips, as if she's about to speak but reconsiders.

She's a doe—unsure, wide-eyed, skittish.

Harry likes that.

He waits, watching her drink, noting how she ignores her phone, waits for no one. Alone. That's key. He can take his time.

Minutes pass. He leaves his stool, approaching. Not rushed. Not eager. Effortless, as if he's just noticed her.

"Hope you don't mind," he says, sliding beside her, smiling. "Bar's crowded tonight."

She blinks, startled. Up close, she's prettier. There's a softness, an innocence most lose in childhood. He wants to touch her hair, see if she shivers.

"Oh—no, I don't mind," she stammers. "I wasn't—um, I wasn't saving the seat."

He smiles. She's nervous, unsure. New to this.

Perfect.

"Good," he murmurs, tapping his glass. "You local?"

She shakes her head. "Visiting."

"Yeah?" He studies her. "Family here, or passing through?"

Something flickers across her face. Unreadable. She tucks her hair back, smiling politely.

"Just... needed new scenery."

Interesting.

People have reasons for coming here. This town isn't a tourist spot—unless you know where to look.

"Funny," he muses, his gaze lingering. "People come here running from something... or looking for something."

She laughs softly. "Maybe I'm taking a break from real life."

He smirks. "How's that going?"

She shrugs, looking down. "Still figuring that out."

Harry watches her. She's intriguing. Not just sweet, not just out of place—but deliberate.

She came for a reason.

She's waiting for something.

And Harry?

He's never been patient.

Harry lets the silence settle between them, watching the way she tucks her chin, fingers wrapped around the stem of her wine glass like she's holding on to something fragile. She doesn't fidget, doesn't reach for her phone, doesn't try to fill the quiet with unnecessary conversation. That's uncommon. Most people scramble to keep up, afraid of pauses, afraid of what they might reveal in them.

But she lets the moment stretch, like she's at ease in the space between words.

That makes him want to unravel her even more.

"You don't seem like the type," he says finally, watching her over the rim of his glass as he takes a slow sip.

She blinks up at him, confused. "The type?"

"To drink alone," he clarifies, tilting his head just slightly. "To slip into a place like this, quiet as a secret, and keep to yourself."

A soft laugh escapes her, and she ducks her head, almost shy. "I suppose it does feel a little out of character."

He raises a brow. "Does it?"

She hesitates, then nods, swirling her wine. "I'm usually not very… spontaneous. I like plans. I like knowing what's next."

Ah. That explains it.

She isn't reckless. Not the type to chase adrenaline, not the type to throw herself into the unknown. She's cautious.

He wonders what made her break the pattern.

"Nothing wrong with a little spontaneity," he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, just enough to make the words feel weightier. "You might surprise yourself."

She looks up then, really looks at him, her eyes searching his face like she's trying to decipher what kind of man he is. If he's harmless. If he's safe.

He smiles, slow and easy. He knows what she'll see.

Harry Styles, the charming stranger. The kind of man people trust without thinking, the kind they never see coming.

A little voice in the back of his mind hums with interest.

She's smart. Cautious. But she's still sitting here, still talking to him.

That means there's something underneath. A part of her that wants to step outside the lines she's drawn for herself.

And that?

That makes things much more entertaining.

"What about you?" she asks, tilting her head slightly. "Are you the spontaneous type?"

Harry chuckles, dragging his finger along the rim of his glass. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice all smooth amusement. "You have no idea."

Her lips part just slightly, as if she's about to say something else, but before she can, the bartender stops by to clear away empty glasses, giving Harry a knowing look.

"Another one for you?" she asks, wiping the counter down.

He shakes his head, then gestures toward the girl beside him. "She can have one, if she wants."

Y/N blinks, caught off guard. "Oh—I—"

"Let me guess," Harry interrupts, leaning in just slightly, lowering his voice like it's just for her. "You feel bad letting someone buy you a drink."

She exhales a soft laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Something like that."

Harry grins. "Consider it part of the whole 'stepping out of your comfort zone' thing."

She hesitates for only a second before relenting, giving the bartender a small nod.

"Alright," she says. "Just this once."

His smirk lingers.

She's interesting. A little cautious, a little hesitant, but… something about her feels like a challenge.

The bartender gently slid another glass of wine towards her.

Harry studied her, watching her throat move as she swallowed, her hands motionless when most fidgeted. She excelled at this. Not just playing coy. The practiced kind.

"So, just a fresh start, then?" he asked, feigning casualness.

She nodded. "Something like that."

He dragged his fingers over the condensation on his glass. "Most people pick somewhere exciting for that. A city. A place with distractions."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "I wanted somewhere quiet."

"Quiet," he echoed, rolling the word on his tongue. "Yeah, I s'pose this place qualifies."

Silence fell between them. The bar hummed—low conversations, clinking glasses, bursts of laughter. Yet in this moment, they existed in isolation.

She watched him. Carefully. Weighing her choices.

His lips curled into a grin.

"Y'know," he mused, his voice dipping, "I think I like this version of you."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"This," he gestured toward her. "The part of you that says, 'why not' instead of 'should I?'"

She laughed, shaking her head. "I don't usually let strangers psychoanalyze me."

He smirked. "I'm not just any stranger, though. I bought you a drink, remember?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, but warmth crept into her expression. Her guard lowered, imperceptibly.

And that's the thing about people like her. They miss the moment it happens.

"Alright," she said, shifting in her seat. "What about you?"

Harry raised a brow. "What about me?"

She tilted her head, studying him. "What's your reason for being here?"

For the first time, she pressed him.

He savored that.

Harry sipped his drink, then set it down, giving her a small, knowing smile.

"Oh, love," he murmured, watching her lean in unconsciously.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Y/N's lips parted. Curiosity sparked in her eyes. She didn't lean away. That's the thing—she should. He'd given her an easy out, an excuse to laugh it off, to steer the conversation somewhere lighter. But she didn't take it.

She lifted her glass, studying him over the rim before sipping. "Try me."

Harry grinned. Slow. Deliberate. All teeth and amusement.

"Alright," he said, settling back, stretching his arms along the bar. "Let's see... I could say I was born here, but that'd be a lie. Could tell you I moved here for work, but that wouldn't be right either." He paused, dragging his fingers along the condensation of his glass. "Maybe I just like it here."

Y/N lifted a brow. "Because it's quiet?"

"Something like that."

She watched him for a beat, and Harry wondered if she knew what she was doing—if she realized how good she was at holding his attention. Most people tried too hard. They flirted, they fawned, they tried to impress. But Y/N? She just existed in a way that made people want to lean in, to hear more, to know more.

"Guess we have that in common, then," she said finally, tilting her head. "We both like quiet places."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't know about that, sweetheart. You say you like quiet, but you've been sitting here talking to me all night."

She exhaled a small laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I could say the same about you."

Harry smirked, tapping a ringed finger against his glass. "Fair enough."

For a moment, they sat there, the air between them humming with something unspoken. The bar roared around them—music blared, drinks poured, voices overlapped in a steady, endless murmur. But somehow, it all felt distant.

She hadn't asked the obvious questions yet. She hadn't asked what he did, if he had family here, if he ever planned on leaving. Most people did, within the first five minutes of meeting him. But not her.

And he wondered if that's because she didn't care...

Or because she already knew.

Harry studied her, his gaze sweeping over the slope of her collarbone, the way her fingers curled around her glass. She looked soft. Breakable. But something lurked underneath, just out of reach.

"You always travel alone?" he asked, keeping his tone casual.

She shifted. Not much, just enough that he caught it. "Most of the time."

"Most of the time?" he echoed, intrigued.

She nodded. "Sometimes I meet people along the way."

Harry hummed, dragging his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "And how do you decide who's worth meeting?"

Her lips twitched. "Gut feeling, I suppose."

That made him grin. "And what's your gut telling you about me?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she looked at him—really looked at him, her eyes searching his face, like she weighed something in her mind.

And then, finally, she tilted her head and said, "I haven't decided yet."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "I like you, Y/N."

She raised a brow. "You don't even know me."

"Maybe not." He lifted his glass, holding her gaze as he sipped. "But I've got a gut feeling."

And for the first time, he wondered if she was the one testing him.

The conversation hung between them, taut as wire.

Y/N held Harry's gaze, unrushed to break the quiet. Most people fidgeted when Harry didn't offer an easy out. They stammered, tripped over their curiosity. But she sat still, unreadable, as if time meant nothing.

Harry itched to unravel her.

"You always trust your gut?" she asked, tapping her fingernail on her glass stem.

Harry's mouth curved. "Never failed me."

Her lips twitched, almost a smile. "You sound certain."

He chuckled, deep in his throat. "That bad?"

She paused, considering. "Depends if you're right."

His grin widened.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, eyes locked on hers, "I'm always right."

She laughed then—soft, genuine. A pleasant sound, but Harry knew better. She slipped from his grasp before he could close his fingers around her.

Clever girl.

"I'll stick around and see," she mused, tilting her wine glass.

That caught his attention.

She planned to stay.

It thrilled him more than it should. Something about her made him want to push, to uncover why she sat here, in his town, his bar, talking to him.

"I'll make it simple," he said, placing a twenty on the counter and signaling the bartender. "Walk with me."

She paused. Barely noticeable, but he caught it.

Harry waited. He didn't backtrack or reassure. He watched her, let the choice weigh on her.

Slowly, she nodded.

"Fine," she murmured, standing as he did. "Don't get me lost."

Harry smirked, pocketing his hands as he led her to the door.

"Love," he drawled, pushing it open, "Where's the fun in that?"

Night air enveloped them, thick with salt and damp earth. Streets lay quiet, occasional headlights cutting through darkness. Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, not quite shivering.

Harry's eyes sharpened in the streetlight glow.

"Cold?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Sure?"

She glanced at him, something flashing across her face. "You always double your questions?"

Harry chuckled. "When I want truth."

Y/N exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. "I told you. I'm fine."

He believed her.

For now.

They walked, waves crashing in the distance. This town wasn't built for excitement. People vanished into the scenery here. No one asked questions.

Perfect for someone like him.

"Why'd you really come here?" Harry asked, glancing over.

Y/N tilted her head. "I needed a change."

"Mm." He nodded slowly. "You picked nowhere for that?"

Her lips twitched. "I like quiet, remember?"

"Right," he murmured, tongue grazing his bottom lip. "Quiet places."

He wondered if she knew what she did. If she realized she balanced on a blade's edge, toeing the line between harmless and much darker.

She didn't look afraid.

Most people sensed something in him, even unnamed. Their instincts recognized danger. They hesitated, eyes darting to exits, fingers twitching to flee.

But Y/N?

She walked beside him, matching his stride.

That made her different.

That made her interesting.

"You trust strangers often?" he asked casually.

She laughed softly. "What makes you think I trust you?"

That stopped him for a heartbeat.

Then he grinned, sharp-edged.

"Love," he murmured, head tilted, "If you didn't, you wouldn't be here."

Y/N smiled, something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she looked ahead.

Harry's fingers brushed the metal of his rings inside his pockets as he watched Y/N. She moved with a calculated ease, each step measured, her words precise. Not the loose-limbed swagger of the tipsy, but a controlled relaxation that piqued his interest.

"You know," she said, her voice low, "This place isn't as quiet as you think."

Harry glanced at her. "No?"

She shook her head, eyes fixed ahead. "It seems that way. Small town, friendly people, coastal charm. But underneath... there's a story here."

Something flickered in his chest. He smirked. "A story. What, you a journalist?"

She laughed softly. "Close. I write true crime."

Harry slowed imperceptibly, processing her words.

True crime.

"That why you're here?" he asked, voice smooth. "Looking for your next bestseller?"

Y/N hummed. "Maybe."

Her response made his fingers twitch. Not a lie, not the truth. Harry knew how to dissect such half-truths.

"What's the angle?" he mused. "Small-town scandal? Stolen cars, missing cats?"

She exhaled, half-amused, half-disbelieving. "You're funny."

"I try."

She studied his face, as she had all night. "I heard there was a killer here."

Years of practice kept Harry's expression neutral. He blinked, then laughed. "A killer? Dramatic."

Y/N didn't smile. She tilted her head, eyes intense. "You haven't heard?"

Harry shrugged. "Small towns love their ghost stories."

"This one's not a ghost story," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"No," she confirmed. "People go missing here, Harry. They don't come back."

The way she said his name - testing its weight - coiled something in his chest.

He exhaled, amused. "Sounds like conspiracy blogs."

"Maybe," she admitted, watching him. "Or I know how to look for patterns."

Harry smiled, lazy. "What patterns, sweetheart?"

Y/N stepped closer. He saw the glint in her eyes. "People disappear here. Specific people. Tourists. Women. Those without someone looking for them." She paused. "It's been happening for a while."

Harry tilted his head. "That so?"

She nodded. "I've followed the cases for months. No bodies. No leads. Just... gone."

Her words led somewhere. She waited for his reaction.

Harry leaned in, voice low. "Tell me, love. What makes you think you'll find anything different?"

Y/N held his gaze, unwavering. "Because I know what to look for."

The words hung between them, heavy. For the first time that night, Harry wondered if she played him.

And he liked it.

Harry studied her, noting the slight tilt of her chin, her posture—not tense, not afraid, just… waiting.

She waited for him to slip.

He exhaled, chuckling low in his chest. "I thought you were a sweet girl looking for a quiet drink."

Her lips twitched. "I told you I wasn't spontaneous."

"Right." Harry's tongue dragged along his cheek. "You came for a story."

She nodded. "Something like that."

"What if," he mused, head cocked, "you don't like the ending?"

Y/N didn't flinch. "I rewrite it."

Harry grinned, sharp-edged. She intrigued him. Not stupid. Not naive. She kept her cards close, made him want to flip them himself.

"Do you chase ghosts often," he murmured, stepping closer, "or am I lucky?"

Her breath caught, barely. "I don't believe in ghosts," she said.

"No?"

"No."

Harry's gaze raked her face. She stood steady, but he knew how people hid nerves. Tightened fingers, stuttered breath, racing pulse betraying calm eyes.

Y/N knew his presence. She didn't try to escape it.

"What do you believe in?" His voice curled like smoke.

She tilted her head, eyes flicking to his mouth. "Patterns. People who think they're untraceable."

Harry's smirk lingered. His chest tightened.

She excelled at this.

Too much.

She hadn't stumbled into danger. She wasn't lured into the woods, blind to watching wolves.

She came deliberately.

For him.

Yet she stood, challenging him, tempting him. It thrilled him more than anything in years.

"Found someone, then?" he asked, watching her. "This killer?"

Her lips parted, amusement in her eyes. "Maybe. I'm close."

"That so?"

She nodded. "I need to get closer."

His stomach knotted. Her words hung between them, daring him to act—

Fuck.

Harry stepped in, slow, deliberate. She held her ground, let his heat envelop her like a question.

"You're brave," he murmured, silk-voiced, "or stupid."

Y/N lifted her chin, her breath ghosting his lips. "We'll see."

A beat of silence.

Then—

Harry exhaled, amused, and stepped back.

Y/N blinked, surprised for a second. He caught it.

Good.

He'd keep her guessing.

"For someone seeking a killer," he mused, grinning, "you seem fearless."

She watched him, shrugging. "Maybe I don't think he'd hurt me."

"Why's that?"

Y/N exhaled softly, head tilted. "People like that don't hurt people like me."

The words settled, thick and heavy, curling around something unsaid.

Harry kept his smirk, but something sharp dug in.

For the first time in years…

He didn't know which of them hunted the other.

Harry watches her closely, his smirk lazy but his mind sharp, dissecting her every move. The way her breath evens out, the way she blinks just a second too late, like she’s measuring the moment instead of reacting to it. Most people act without thinking.

She doesn’t.

She’s controlled. She’s careful. And yet—she’s standing too close, speaking too softly, dipping into the kind of intimacy that could disarm most men.

Most.

Not him.

"People like that don’t hurt people like you," he murmurs, rolling the words over in his mouth like a sip of whiskey. "Now why’s that, sweetheart?"

Y/N shrugs, her gaze flickering up to meet his. "Because I don’t run."

That? That’s fucking interesting.

Harry huffs a soft breath of amusement, shifting on his feet, dragging his thumb over the silver band on his middle finger. "So, what—this is a test? You poking the bear, seeing if it bites?"

She exhales a soft laugh, tipping her head slightly. "I don’t think you’re a bear, Harry."

That makes him smirk. "No?"

"No," she murmurs, her voice dipping lower, the same way his does when he wants people to lean in. "Bears are predictable. You… you’re something else."

Fuck.

She’s good.

Too good.

This isn’t just a woman poking around for a headline. This isn’t just a curious tourist looking to spook herself with small-town horror stories.

She came here for him.

And she’s enjoying this.

Harry shifts, stepping into her space again, this time slower, more deliberate. He watches for the tells—the flicker of hesitation, the instinct to step back, the part of her brain that should be screaming at her to move.

But she holds her ground.

He fucking loves that.

"You’ve got me all figured out, then?" he murmurs, his breath warm against her cheek.

Y/N doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tremble. Doesn’t run.

Instead, she tilts her chin up slightly, meeting his gaze without fear. "Not yet."

A beat.

Then, Harry smiles. Slow. Amused.

He steps back.

And just like before—just like he’d hoped—she doesn’t hide her surprise quickly enough.

Gotcha.

She’s been leading him somewhere all night, but she didn’t expect him to lead her right back.

Good.

He wants to keep her guessing.

Y/N doesn't flinch. Doesn't tremble. Doesn't run.

She tilts her chin up, meeting his gaze. "Not yet."

A beat.

Harry's lips curl. Slow. Amused.

He steps back.

Her surprise flashes across her face, too quick to hide.

Gotcha.

She's led him all night, but he's led her right back.

Good.

He'll keep her guessing.

"You wanna know what I think?" Harry slides his hands into his pockets, his rings' weight grounding him.

Y/N crosses her arms, fingers brushing her biceps, piecing him together. "Enlighten me."

Harry grins. "I think you're used to people giving you what you want."

Her lips twitch. "And what do you think I want?"

He tilts his head. "Answers."

She laughs, shaking her head. "That's not entirely wrong."

"But it's not entirely right," he says, tongue dragging along his bottom lip. "If it was just answers, you wouldn't play games. You wouldn't tease it out, dragging this along like you're enjoying the chase."

Y/N's breath catches—barely, but enough.

Harry smirks.

"See," he steps closer, watching her not react—a reaction itself. "You didn't come for a ghost story. You came for a monster."

Y/N holds his gaze. Steady. Unflinching.

Then—she smiles.

"Maybe," she says. "But what makes you think I haven't found one already?"

The air shifts.

Tightens.

Harry's pulse ticks up, thrumming beneath his skin like a song's start.

This is different.

She's not here to dig.

She's here to hunt.

And the best part?

She thinks she's the only one playing.

Harry chuckles, shaking his head. "Sweetheart, you should be careful who you go looking for."

Y/N tilts her head, eyes dark and unreadable. "You should be careful what you let me find."

Fucking hell.

Harry should be irritated.

Most people don't get this close, don't sniff him out before he's ready. He's careful. Deliberate. He's spent years weaving himself into this town, into its routine—just another local boy, just another pretty face with a devil-may-care smirk and easy charm that makes people ignore the static in their minds when they're around him.

But Y/N?

She's not ignoring anything.

She's seeing right through him.

And fuck, he likes it.

"You've got an ego, don't you?" He steps close enough to watch her breathing shift, her pulse tick at her throat's hollow. "Think you're the first to come sniffing around here, looking for shadows?"

Y/N doesn't flinch. Doesn't step back. "No. But I think I'll be the last."

A grin stretches across Harry's lips. "Bold of you."

"Accurate," she corrects.

God, she's good.

Her movements, her speech—calculated. Every glance, every brush of her fingers against her skin, every moment of hesitation that isn't hesitation at all. She's not stumbling. She's testing him.

And he can't tell if she's doing it to prove he's dangerous...

Or to know just how dangerous he is.

Harry exhales, tongue dragging along his cheek's inside. "So, if you're so sure there's a monster here, what's your plan?"

Y/N blinks, and for the first time all night, she looks at him with something soft.

Not nerves. Not fear. Something else entirely.

She tilts her head, gaze flickering over his face, committing every inch to memory.

"That depends," she says quietly. "On whether the monster is stupid enough to let me get close."

Fuck.

Harry inhales sharply, hands twitching in his pockets, fighting the urge to reach for her. Not out of anger. Not out of fear.

Out of curiosity.

Out of something darker.

She's making this a game. Letting him chase her, even as she hunts him right back.

He should end this. Should laugh it off, shake his head, tell her she's got it all wrong and slip back into his role.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he leans in, voice roughening against the air between them.

"And what if the monster is letting you get close on purpose?"

A beat.

Then—Y/N smiles.

Not wide. Not playful. Not the kind of smile people give when they're being charmed into something dangerous.

No.

This smile is knowing.

Like she's already figured that out.

Like she's been waiting for him to admit it.

And that?

That makes Harry's pulse spike in a way it never has before.

"You really want to play this game with me, sweetheart?" he asks, tilting his head.

Y/N exhales, stepping in close enough for him to smell her perfume's faint trace, her skin's warmth beneath the night's cool breeze.

Her lips barely move when she speaks.

"I think we've already started."

For a long moment, neither of them speak. The night hums around them—the distant crash of waves, the low murmur of the wind slipping through alleyways, the occasional flicker of headlights rolling down the quiet street.

But in this moment, there is only them.

Harry studies her, the way her lips hover just slightly apart, the way her pulse thrums steady at the base of her throat. She’s not afraid. That much is clear. If anything, she looks thrilled.

That’s the part that gets to him.

Most people don’t know they’re stepping into his web until it’s too late. They let their guard down, let him in, let him win. But Y/N?

She walked into the dark on purpose.

And now she’s daring him to close the door behind her.

His fingers twitch in his pockets, but he doesn’t move. Not yet.

Instead, he tilts his head, letting his eyes trace over her face, slow and thoughtful.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," he murmurs, his voice low and deliberate.

Y/N exhales a soft breath, not quite a laugh, but something close. "So are you."

Harry smirks. "I don’t lose."

Her lips curve slightly, like she’s heard that before. "Maybe you haven’t played against someone like me."

Fuck.

His chest tightens, something dark curling low in his stomach.

She’s making this a game, but he doesn’t know what kind yet.

Is she just a girl with too much curiosity? A writer with a death wish? Or—is she more than that?

Is she here to catch him?

Or worse—is she here to see if she can be just like him?

Harry lets out a soft, amused breath, rolling his shoulders back, easing some of the tension out of them. "Alright, then," he murmurs. "Let’s play."

Y/N raises a brow. "Just like that?"

He nods. "Why not?"

Her eyes flicker over his face, searching for something. "Because I don’t think you’re the type to give up control."

Oh, she’s good. She’s so fucking good.

Harry chuckles, low and warm. "You think I’m giving it up?"

She lifts her chin slightly. "Aren’t you?"

Harry watches her for another long moment, considering. He should be more cautious. He should be shutting this down, slipping back into the persona that’s kept him untouchable for so long.

But for the first time in years, he feels something like a thrill creeping beneath his skin.

This isn’t a woman who wandered too close to the fire.

This is a woman who wants to see if she can survive it.

And Harry?

He’s just dying to find out how far she’s willing to go.

"Alright," he murmurs, dragging his tongue along his bottom lip. "Tell me, then—where do we start?"

Y/N holds his gaze, her fingers curling around her sleeve as she exhales softly.

"With a question," she says.

Harry smirks. "Ask away, sweetheart."

She leans in just slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you believe in fate?"

Harry blinks, caught off guard. Not what he expected.

But instead of answering right away, he lets the silence stretch, lets her see the way he weighs the words before he responds.

"Fate," he echoes, tilting his head. "You think that’s what this is?"

She shrugs, but there’s something sharp in the way she does it. "You and I, in the same place, at the same time. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?"

Harry exhales a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "You’re telling me you came all this way looking for a killer, and now you think it’s fate that we met?"

Y/N’s lips curve into something small, something almost innocent—almost.

"I think fate puts people in front of us for a reason," she says. "It’s up to us to figure out why."

A slow smirk pulls at Harry’s mouth.

"Alright then," he murmurs, stepping just slightly closer, just enough to watch the way her breath hitches. "Let’s figure it out, shall we?"

And for the first time in a long, long while…

Y/N doesn’t waver.

Even with Harry inches from her, even with his voice sinking into something low and dangerous, even with the weight of his gaze pressing into her like a hand at the base of her throat—she doesn’t move.

She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t shift away.

She holds her ground.

And that is what makes his blood hum, makes his fingers twitch at his sides. He’s used to the thrill of the chase, the way people give themselves away before they even realize they’ve lost. But this?

This is something else entirely.

A game where neither of them have tipped their hand.

A hunt where both of them think they’re the predator.

And fuck—he likes it.

"So," he murmurs, keeping his voice light, casual, like there’s not something razor-sharp curling in his chest. "What happens now?"

Y/N tilts her head slightly, like she’s considering the same thing. "That depends."

Harry lifts a brow. "On?"

She exhales a soft breath, dragging her fingers along the seam of her sleeve. "On whether or not you’re going to answer my question."

Ah. Right.

Fate.

Harry smirks, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches her, watches the way she’s still standing there like she belongs in this moment, like she isn’t toeing the edge of something dangerous.

"Let’s say I do," he muses, tilting his head. "What would that prove?"

Y/N doesn’t hesitate. "That you believe in patterns. That some things don’t happen by accident."

Harry hums, turning the words over in his mind. She’s fishing.

Not clumsily—not the way most people would, tossing out accusations and hoping something sticks. No, she’s patient. She’s waiting for him to slip.

Too bad for her—he doesn’t slip.

He steps closer, just enough that the air between them tightens, just enough that if either of them took a breath too deep, they’d touch.

"You think that’s what this is?" he murmurs, his voice dipping into something slow, deliberate. "You and me, standing here, playing this little game?"

Y/N holds his gaze. "Don’t you?"

Harry lets a beat pass, lets the tension thrum between them before he leans in slightly, just enough for his breath to brush the shell of her ear.

"I don’t believe in fate, sweetheart," he murmurs. "I believe in decisions."

And when he pulls back, he watches the way her lips part just slightly—not because she’s surprised.

Because she agrees.

Fuck.

She’s so goddamn interesting.

"Decisions," she repeats, tipping her chin up just slightly. "Like the kind that make people disappear?"

A challenge.

A test.

And he could do a lot of things in this moment. He could smirk, laugh, brush it off, tell her she’s reaching, tell her she’s been spending too much time digging into ghost stories that aren’t real.

But Harry?

Harry leans in again.

Not enough to touch, but enough to dare.

"Tell me something, love," he murmurs, his voice so low it barely cuts through the sound of the waves in the distance. "Are you really here to find a killer…"

His lips twitch, just slightly, as he lets his eyes trace over her face, as he watches the way her breath catches, the way her fingers curl slightly at her sides.

"Or are you here to see if you’re just like me?"

That?

That finally makes her react.

Her throat bobs. Not much. Just enough for him to know.

Just enough for him to realize—this isn’t about justice.

This isn’t about stopping someone.

This is about understanding.

About looking into the dark and seeing if she recognizes herself.

And for the first time, Harry wonders if she’s not just the hunter.

Maybe—just maybe—she’s looking for permission.

And that?

That changes everything.

The moment stretched between them, thick and heavy.

Y/N didn't speak, didn't recoil or rush to defend herself. Harry's pulse kicked up, humming beneath his skin. If she was another reporter, another detective chasing ghosts, she'd have denied it. Scoffed, rolled her eyes, called him insane.

But she didn't.

She looked at him.

Deciding if she'd tell the truth.

Wondering if he knew it already.

Fuck.

Harry let the silence linger, watching her throat bob, her fingers twitch before stilling. She masked it well. Kept calm, hid how his words cut through her.

But he caught it.

Now he wanted to see what she'd do.

"You think I'm just like you?" she asked, her voice quiet.

Harry smirked, tilting his head. "That depends," he said, his voice like whiskey. "Are you?"

Y/N exhaled, almost laughing. "That's dangerous to assume."

"Not an assumption, sweetheart," Harry said, stepping closer, watching her breath tighten. "It's a question."

She didn't move. Didn't step back, flinch, or run.

She held her ground, eyes searching his face.

Then—she smiled.

Knowing.

Like she'd realized she was caught.

Like she didn't mind.

"Maybe," she said.

The answer hit Harry like a thrill, twisting into something darker, heavier.

He knew now.

This wasn't about justice.

Wasn't about a story.

This was about her.

How she saw herself. How she'd been looking for something unnamed—undefined.

Something like him.

"Maybe," he repeated, his voice low enough to brush her skin. "Now, that's interesting."

Y/N lifted her chin. "You think so?"

Harry hummed, dragging his fingers along his lip as he watched her.

For the first time in years...

He'd met someone worth keeping.

Not a toy.

Not a victim.

Not someone to lure and break.

Something else entirely.

And the worst part?

She looked at him like she knew.

"Tell me," he said, tracing his finger down her wrist. Feeling her pulse. Feeling how it didn't jump.

"How does it end, love?"

Y/N exhaled. "That depends."

"On?"

Her lips curved.

"On whether you let me in."

The words settled, dark and electric.

This was no longer a game.

This was far more dangerous.

Two wolves meeting in the dark.

Not much. Just enough for him to know.

Just enough for him to realize—this isn't about justice.

This isn't about stopping someone.

This is about understanding.

About looking into the dark and seeing if she recognizes herself.

And for the first time, Harry wonders if she's not just the hunter.

Maybe—she's looking for permission.

And that?

That changes everything.

Harry's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on Y/N. She stood before him, unmoving, her face a mask of calm. But beneath that mask, something lurked. Something that made his skin prickle.

He stepped closer, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume. Y/N didn't flinch. Didn't step back. Her eyes met his, steady and unflinching.

"You're not here for justice," Harry said, his voice low. "Are you?"

Y/N's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "What makes you say that?"

Harry's fingers twitched at his sides. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to see if she'd recoil. But he held back. "Because you're not looking at me like I'm a monster," he said. "You're looking at me like I'm a mirror."

Y/N's breath caught, just for a moment. A flicker of something—recognition, perhaps—flashed across her face before disappearing. "And what do you think you see in that mirror, Harry?"

He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted across her cheek. "I see someone who's tired of pretending," he murmured. "Someone who's looking for permission to stop."

Y/N's eyes darkened. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. "Permission from who?"

Harry's hand moved, fingers brushing against her wrist. Her pulse thrummed beneath his touch, steady and strong. "From someone who understands," he said. "From someone who won't judge."

Y/N's fingers curled, not pulling away from his touch, but not leaning into it either. "And you think that's you?"

Harry's lips curled into a smile that was all teeth. "I think you already know the answer to that, sweetheart."

Y/N's eyes searched his face, looking for something. Whatever she found made her smile, a slow, dangerous thing that made Harry's blood sing. "Maybe I do," she said.

Harry's grip on her wrist tightened, just a fraction. "Then the question is," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "what are you going to do about it?"

Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. "That depends," she breathed, "on whether you're willing to show me."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He pulled back, just enough to meet her gaze. What he saw there made his heart race. Not fear. Not disgust. But hunger. A hunger that matched his own.

"Be careful what you wish for, love," he warned.

Y/N's smile widened. "Oh, Harry," she said, her voice soft and dark. "I'm counting on it."

Harry doesn’t wait for a reply.

Instead, he steps back, tilting his head, letting the silence stretch between them like a live wire. He watches the way Y/N breathes, the way her lips part just slightly, the way she doesn’t hesitate. She’s waiting for him to move, to tell her where to go, to let her in.

He grins, slow and deliberate.

"Come on, then," he murmurs, turning on his heel.

Y/N doesn’t ask where they’re going.

She just follows.

The town is empty at this hour, most lights flickering out, only the occasional neon sign humming in the distance. The only sound is the steady rhythm of their footsteps against the pavement.

Harry leads them off the main street, down past the bar, past the old fishing docks where the water sloshes lazily against the wooden posts. Then, further still, where the town begins to slip away behind them, swallowed by trees and salt-thick air.

The cliffs.

The place where the town meets the edge of the world, where the land drops away into black, crashing waves.

The wind picks up as they step off the gravel road, onto the dirt path that winds its way toward the top. It’s quiet, save for the sound of the tide pulling in and out, a rhythmic thing, steady and endless.

"You bring all your dates out here?" Y/N asks, her voice light, teasing. But there’s something else beneath it. A question. A test.

Harry smirks, slipping his hands into his pockets. "You’re not a date."

She hums. "No?"

"No." He glances at her, his smile lazy but sharp. "You’re something else."

That seems to satisfy her.

At the top, the land evens out before breaking away into nothing. The wind is stronger here, sweeping through his curls, tugging at the hem of his shirt. Below, the waves churn, dark and endless, slamming against the jagged rocks.

A perfect place for things to disappear.

Y/N steps toward the edge, not recklessly, but curiously. She tilts her head slightly, glancing over her shoulder.

"This where you do it?"

Harry chuckles, shaking his head. "Now, that’d be predictable, wouldn’t it? I do it in a small trailer just out of the suburbs."

Y/N exhales a soft laugh, dragging her fingers along the sleeve of her jacket. "Wouldn’t be a bad place for it."

He watches her carefully. The way she says it, the way she toes the edge, the way she tests the space between them.

She’s not just hunting for him.

She’s trying to see if she belongs in this world.

Harry steps up beside her, slow and easy, letting the weight of his presence settle against hers. "You looking for proof?"

Y/N exhales softly, her gaze fixed on the waves below. "I already have proof," she murmurs. "I just wanted to see if you’d bring me here."

Clever girl.

Harry tilts his head, watching her. "And what does that tell you?"

She finally looks at him. "That you’re testing me, too."

Harry smirks. She’s right.

Because this is a test.

For both of them.

A challenge, a question, a line in the sand waiting to be crossed.

"You asked me to prove it," Y/N says, tilting her head slightly. "So tell me, Harry—what would that look like?"

Harry exhales a slow breath, drags his tongue over his bottom lip, decides.

Then, he reaches into his pocket.

Pulls out a small, silver switchblade.

Flicks it open.

The sharp, metallic click cuts through the night.

And Y/N?

She doesn’t move.

She doesn’t flinch.

Her breath doesn’t even change.

Harry smirks. "Still sure you want in, sweetheart?"

Y/N reaches out.

Not for his wrist. Not to shove him away.

She reaches for the blade.

And presses the tip against her palm.

A single drop of blood beads at the surface before trailing down her wrist.

And fuck, fuck, fuck—

Harry has never wanted anything more in his life.

The drop of blood catches in the moonlight, a perfect bead of red against her skin before it slides down, leaving a thin trail along the delicate line of her wrist.

Harry doesn’t move.

Not because he’s stunned—he doesn’t do stunned—but because he’s taking his time, watching, memorizing.

The way she holds his gaze, steady and sure, her breathing still even. The way her fingers barely twitch around the blade, like she’s testing the weight of it, feeling the cold bite of steel against her palm.

Like she’s comfortable with it.

Like she’s done this before.

Fuck.

He shouldn’t like this as much as he does. Shouldn’t feel this pull in his stomach, sharp and deep, curling like something alive.

But he does.

Y/N tilts her chin slightly, watching him. "Satisfied?"

Harry exhales a slow breath, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip. "Depends," he murmurs, voice low and even. "You planning to stop there?"

She hums, turning her hand slightly, watching the way the blood slides over her skin, soaking into the lifeline carved into her palm. Then, lazily, she lifts it to her mouth and drags her tongue over the wound.

Harry’s fingers curl into fists at his sides.

Not out of anger. Not out of anything close to it.

But because he’s never been tempted like this before.

Never wanted to pull someone closer just to see how much further they’d go.

She steps toward him, her movements slow, deliberate, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to him.

Maybe she does.

"So, what now?" she murmurs, tilting her head slightly.

Harry smirks, dragging his gaze over her face, her parted lips, the way her breath ghosts over his skin. "That depends, sweetheart," he murmurs. "How bad do you want to know what it’s like?"

Her pulse flickers at the base of her throat. Not fear. Anticipation.

She lifts her hand, the same one still slick with blood, and presses it against his chest.

Harry exhales sharply, feeling the warmth of it soak through his shirt, seeping into his skin.

"You tell me," she whispers.

And fuck.

He’s never met anyone like her.

Never met anyone who wants it.

Not just to understand.

Not just to chase a story.

But because she sees herself in it.

And maybe that’s the most dangerous thing of all.

Harry lifts a hand, curling his fingers around her wrist, holding her there, feeling the way her pulse thrums steady beneath his grip.

"Alright," he murmurs, voice like smoke, curling slow and thick in the space between them.

"Let’s find out."

Then, he turns, keeping her wrist in his grasp, and leads her away from the cliff’s edge.

The woods swallow them whole, dense and dark, the moon slicing through the branches in thin, silver beams.

Y/N doesn’t ask where they’re going.

She just follows.

Harry doesn’t take people here. Not unless they don’t leave. But tonight is different.

She wants to see.

Wants to know.

And Harry?

Harry wants to see just how deep this goes.

The crunch of leaves beneath their boots is the only sound for a while, the ocean a distant hum behind them. Then, Y/N speaks.

"Who was your first?"

Harry flicks a glance at her, surprised—but only for a second. "You first."

Y/N smiles. Small. Barely there.

"I was twelve," she says, her voice quiet. "Neighborhood boy. He had a temper."

Harry tilts his head. "Accident?"

"Not exactly."

His pulse ticks up. Jesus fucking Christ.

He wasn’t wrong.

She’s not playing at this.

She’s been in it all along.

And the worst part?

He doesn’t know if she’s been hunting him to stop him—

Or because she wants to learn from him.

He smirks, rolling his shoulders back, watching the way the light bounces off her skin. "So, you’ve got blood on your hands, then?"

Y/N exhales softly. "I think we both do."

That makes something sharp twist in his chest.

Because she’s right.

She’s so fucking right.

They step into a clearing, and Harry stops, turning to her, watching the way she blinks up at him, unafraid.

"So," he murmurs, slipping the knife from his pocket again, letting the blade catch the moonlight. "You really wanna see what it’s like?"

Y/N doesn’t hesitate.

"Yes."

Harry breathes deep, tilts his head, watches the way she doesn’t so much as blink when he holds the knife out between them.

"You know," he muses, dragging the tip of the blade lightly over his palm, just enough to let the metal whisper against his skin.

"This might make me fall in love with you."

Y/N smiles.

"That’s what I’m counting on.

Harry turns the knife in his hand, the handle solid and familiar against his palm. The sharp glint of steel catches in the moonlight, the same way the reflection of the ocean had shimmered far below. A quiet, deadly thing.

Just like her.

Y/N stands in front of him, waiting, eyes dark and unwavering. She’s patient, controlled, not flinching as he drags the blade across his palm, slow and deliberate.

The cut is shallow—for now. The skin parts beneath the steel, blood beading up, rich and dark in the pale light. The scent of iron curls into the cool night air, tangling between them.

Her gaze flickers down, watching the way it gathers at the edges of his fingers, threatening to drip onto the earth below.

But before it can—

Harry moves.

His free hand lifts, catches her jaw, tilts her face up.

She gasps, barely, her lips parting on instinct, and that’s when he smears his bloody fingers against her mouth.

The warmth of it streaks across her lips, wet and dark, painting her in him.

Harry watches, his pulse spiking, his chest tightening.

"Open," he murmurs, his voice thick and rough.

Y/N’s breath shudders, just slightly, but she listens.

Her lips part, soft and willing, and he slips his fingers past them, slow and deliberate.

Holy fuck.

Her mouth is warm, her tongue slick as it curls around his skin. She sucks lightly, dragging her tongue over the metallic taste of his blood, her lashes flickering as she closes her lips around him.

Harry swears under his breath.

No control.

No dominance.

Something deeper.

Something willing.

Something hungry.

Y/N holds his gaze as she takes it, her lips sealed tight around his fingers, her breath coming shallow as she lets him feed it to her.

Harry’s other hand tightens around the knife, his chest rising and falling, something dark curling in the pit of his stomach.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his voice nothing but a rasp. "Look at you."

Y/N hums softly against his fingers, her tongue flicking against his skin, tasting him.

It’s fucking obscene.

And he’s never wanted to ruin someone more.

Slowly, he pulls his fingers free, dragging them along her bottom lip, smearing the last trace of red against her mouth.

Her tongue darts out, licking it away.

"Good girl," Harry breathes.

Y/N smiles, just barely.

"Now," she whispers, tilting her head slightly. "Show me more."

Harry exhales, dragging his bloodied thumb over her cheekbone, marking her, claiming her, something twisting in his chest.

Y/N doesn’t move.

Not when Harry drags his bloodied thumb over her lips, not when his fingers slip lower, tracing the delicate curve of her throat, smearing red against her skin.

She tilts her chin, lets him.

She’s not just playing anymore. She’s inviting it.

His pulse hammers against his ribs, a slow, heavy beat as he watches her, memorizes the way she breathes, the way she doesn’t so much as tremble under his touch.

She should.

But she doesn’t.

Harry exhales, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. "You’re a strange one, love," he murmurs, voice low, thoughtful.

Y/N tilts her head slightly, her lips curling at the edges. "That a bad thing?"

Harry hums, his hand dropping from her jaw.

Then—quick as a flicker of lightning—he presses the blade to her throat.

She gasps.

Not in fear.

In surprise.

Her breath hitches, sharp and unsteady, but she doesn’t move.

Doesn’t step back.

Doesn’t flinch.

And fuck, that should piss him off.

It should break the spell.

Should remind him that she is not like him.

That she’s just another dumb girl, too curious for her own good, one that he could kill right now, here, on this spot.

One cut. That’s all it would take.

She’d bleed for him, go soft in his hands, just like all the others.

Harry leans in, just enough that his breath ghosts over her cheek, his grip on the knife steady, firm. "You shouldn’t trust me," he murmurs, the words curling against her skin like smoke. "You’re just another girl in the wrong place, at the wrong time."

Y/N exhales, slow and deliberate.

Then, she fucking smiles.

Not wide. Not terrified.

Knowing.

Like she’s been waiting for this.

Like she expected it.

Like she wanted it.

Harry’s fingers twitch around the handle of the blade, pressing just slightly deeper into her skin, just enough that he knows she can feel the sharp bite of it.

"You’re not afraid," he murmurs, almost to himself.

Y/N blinks up at him, steady, calm, her pulse flickering beneath the edge of the knife. "No."

"Why?"

A beat.

Then—

"Because I don’t think you’ll do it."

Harry freezes.

Because she means it.

Because she believes it.

Because she’s right.

He should be furious. Should push the blade deeper just to see if she still has that smug little smirk when she’s choking on blood.

But instead—

Harry exhales sharply, drops the knife.

It clatters to the ground between them.

Y/N doesn’t move, doesn’t even glance at it.

Her focus stays on him, her lips parting slightly, her breath still steady, even as the tension thickens.

Harry watches her. Watches the way she holds his gaze.

Then—

"Alright," he murmurs, voice rough, something dark curling in his stomach. "You win."

A flicker of something flashes through Y/N’s eyes. "What does that mean?"

Harry smirks, slow and dangerous, dragging his fingers along her jaw.

"It means you’re not just another dumb girl," he murmurs.

"It means I’m keeping you."

Harry drags his fingers along the side of her neck, just where the knife had been seconds before. He can still feel the phantom weight of it in his grip, the way her pulse had thrummed beneath the blade—steady, unwavering.

Most people, when they realize they’re in the hands of something dangerous, break apart at the seams. But Y/N? She’s stitched herself tighter.

She tilts her chin slightly, watching him, waiting. Letting him touch her.

And Harry?

Harry wants to pull her apart.

But not in the way he does with the others.

Not to ruin.

To understand.

"You ever held a knife like that before?" he asks, voice low, dragging his thumb lazily along her jaw.

Y/N exhales softly. "Yes."

He smiles.

"Used it?"

A pause. A beat.

Then—

"Yes."

Harry’s fingers tighten, curling just slightly against her skin. His pulse ticks up, slow and thrumming.

There it is.

Truth.

She’s not innocent.

Not just a writer with too much curiosity, not just a woman looking for answers.

She’s been in the dark before.

He tilts his head, his smirk lazy, sharp. "Tell me about your first."

Y/N doesn’t flinch.

If anything, she softens.

Not with hesitation—with memory.

She glances down at the discarded knife between them before lifting her gaze back to his, something dark flickering behind her eyes.

"I was twelve," she says finally, her voice quiet, steady. "There was a boy in my neighborhood. A little older. He liked to hurt things. Cats. Dogs. Girls."

Harry hums, dragging his fingers higher, brushing along her cheekbone. "And you didn’t like that, did you?"

Her lips twitch. "No."

"So, what did you do?"

Y/N tilts her chin, her breath slow and even. "I waited," she murmurs. "I watched him. I followed him when no one else was paying attention. And then, one night, when I knew he was alone… I stopped him."

Harry exhales slowly.

Fuck.

"How?" he asks, almost fascinated.

Y/N blinks up at him. "A knife."

His smirk grows. "Like this one?"

She smiles.

"Exactly like this one."

Harry chuckles, low and thrilled. Because this—is something he wasn’t expecting.

She’s not just intrigued by the dark.

She lives in it.

And suddenly, this night shifts into something else entirely.

Because she wasn’t just hunting him.

She was waiting for him to find her.

Harry drags his fingers down, along the line of her throat, feeling the steady, unshaken beat of her pulse beneath his touch.

"You ever done it again?" he murmurs.

Y/N exhales softly, her lips parting.

"Not yet."

Harry grins.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing closer, letting his voice scrape against the air between them.

"Would you like to?"

She doesn’t hesitate.

"Yes."

The flashing blue and red lights slice through the dark, bouncing off the trees, casting shadows that flicker across the pavement.

Harry is on his knees.

Wrists cuffed. Hands behind his back, shoulders squared, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. His hair is a mess, wild curls tangled from the struggle, damp at the ends where sweat clings to his skin. His lip is split, blood smeared down the corner of his mouth, staining his teeth as he snarls.

And he’s looking right at her.

No—through her.

Y/N stands in front of him, feet planted firm, her heart pounding so hard she swears he can hear it.

"You fucking bitch," he spits, his voice ragged, feral, seething. "You set me up."

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t step back. Doesn’t dare let them see how deep it cuts through her.

Because she was never supposed to get this close.

This was supposed to be a job.

Undercover. Gain his trust. Make him slip.

Find proof.

And she did.

He did slip. For her.

And now, he’s on his knees in the dirt, with officers surrounding him like a pack of wolves, barking orders he’s ignoring, but all of his rage—all of his hatred—is aimed at her.

"Should’ve slit your fucking throat when I had the chance," Harry growls, his voice rough, desperate, real.

Y/N’s throat tightens.

Not out of fear.

No—that’s the worst part.

It’s something else entirely.

Because fuck—he looks beautiful like this.

Like a caged animal, all teeth and fury and betrayal.

Like something that was never meant to be caught.

His chest heaves, his rings glinting under the red-and-blue light, his fingers flexing against the cuffs as if he’s imagining wrapping them around her throat instead.

"You were never supposed to get this far," he snarls. "Never supposed to make it out. Fucking stupid bitch."

An officer presses a knee into his back, shoving him forward. "Shut the hell up, Styles."

Harry laughs.

It’s broken. Bitter.

Like he thinks this is funny.

Like he still can’t believe it.

Like he still wants her dead.

Y/N swallows, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

She shouldn’t feel this.

She shouldn’t feel anything.

But her pulse still skips when he looks at her like that. When his voice drips through her like something warm, something wrong.

She doesn’t want to think about the way his hands felt against her skin, or the way his mouth had hovered against her ear when he whispered things she hadn’t been sure were threats or promises.

She doesn’t want to remember the way he had touched her like he was trying to claim her.

But she does.

And when Harry grins at her, his blood-stained teeth flashing in the night, his voice curling toward her in one final, vicious whisper—

"You think this is over?"

Y/N shivers.

Because she doesn’t know if it is.

369 notes · View notes

strwbryblade · 5 months ago

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everyone stop what your doing and look at this.

metamy…………….

2K notes · View notes

shadesofmauve · 4 months ago

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Alliance Normandy SR2 interior redesign: Introduction

The Normandy is a sexy sexy spaceship, but the interior we see is defined by game play: corridors are extremely wide so Shepard doesn't get stuck on the scenery, the crew is sparse because animating crew members takes resources and NPCs are also obstacles Shepard could get stuck on, you need larger spaces for camera angles, etc.

I wanted to see if I could redesign the space to fit a crew of 70–90... ...and I got carried away.

This post covers the rules I set myself and the basic process. Each deck will get a separate post (check back for links):

Intro

Loft

Command deck

Crew deck

Engineering deck

Hangar deck

Design rules

Keep major elements in basically the same places. This is the Normandy as she exists in my fic Sunset & Evening Star, and readers shouldn't have to study a floorplan!

Use only space that's 'available' in the game. If we can access it as the player, it's fair game. If it's a mysterious void in-game, I assume it's full of Important Spaceship Parts and the only access is for ship maintenance.

The elevator shaft is vertical. No Willy Wonka/ST turbo lift shit.

*There are inertial dampeners; if there weren't none of this would work. But as an author I like to imagine that any system can be overloaded.

Step one: Align & scale the deck maps

I aligned the deck maps around the elevator, the only element that shows up on every one. Each is shown at a different scale, so I eyeballed their relationship based on furniture, which is the only thing required to have a relatively consistent size. This is a big assumption; game designers resize whatever they need to! Shepard's bed, for instance, has pillows about a meter square. Presumably they needed room to made the pixel dolls have sex. Shepard's bed can therefore not be trusted, and to a lesser extent neither can anything else.

(There are also floor panels that look a lot like standard 4'x8' construction sheet stock, but A) developers can re-size those as needed without the player noticing, and B) If we're still using imperial units to construct spaceships in 2184 I hope the reapers eat us.**)

**...that said, I used a scale of 1px:2ft to draw this. I'm so sorry. I'm American and I've done construction, it's easy for me to visualize. (The scale was two inches to the pixel, if you're curious.)

Step two: Redesign over the existing space

This is where I saw how much I could fit in the space the game design allowed (given my guesses on scale). Y'know, the fun bit that I thought I'd be spending most of my time doing!

(I was so wrong).

Redesign goals

The Alliance refitted the Normandy for an Admiral. Admirals don't captain their own ships, so I needed to account for an Admiral and their staff as well as the captain and crew.

Align bunks fore-aft, so that the most common major inertial vectors* will hit sleeping crew in the least dangerous direction.

Plumbing should be stacked when possible. (I don't know spaceships but I know about plumbing columns. Glamorous!)

Step three: Adjust to the hull

One modeler figured the ship had to be ~370 meters long to fit the decks as-is, which would leave them using only ~20% of the length. One dev is quoted as saying she's 170m. Fan estimates comparing it with other ships suggest somewhere from 210–230 meters.

The hangar deck is the one*** place the interior aligns with the exterior for certain. The hangar needs to fit two kodiaks in the space between the bay door and the elevator, and each kodiak needs to fit 12 people plus the pilot. Additionally, as the lowest deck the hanger is limited in width by the inward curve of the hull (and that limit changes based on how low you go, which is why the drawing above includes a front elevation).

***Yes, we also see Joker piloting right up in the nose. This is impossible to achieve and also stupid, so I've elected to ignore it.

Sizing it to the smallest reasonable hangar — and after drawing a rather stubbier kodiak — I managed a 194 meter hull; ~217 if you include thrusters. At this size the liveable area takes up just over a third of the hull length. It's still an awful lot of nose, but that nose means 136 meters for the main gun, which for my purposes is still a rail gun (so size matters). Sadly it can't be a hull-length gun; it would run into first the elevator, and then the eezo core.

I did NOT pretend to figure out where the Make Spaceship Go parts are, or the Keep People Alive parts. There's a LOT of 'wasted' space; assume it's all in use and accessible through engineering access-ways, though how comfortable or safe they are is questionable.

———

Thanks to @swaps55 for the amazing high-res screenshots of the game maps, and to @faejilly and @sheepishwolfy for the long-ago talks about crew size that started all this!

#mass effect #mass effect meta #mass effect lore #fire the headcan(n)on #The Normandy SR2 #Alliance Normandy SR-2 #Sunset and Evening Star #Normandy redesign #Normandy SR-2 redesign

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kennahjune · 1 year ago

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No Upside Down steddie AU where Steve gradually meets the members of Hellfire (-Eddie) in and out of school and they all come to befriending him really fast because “Steve Harrington is actually a good dude”

But Eddie fucking hates it.

And this only spurs Hellfire on because they think him getting mad over Steve Harrington is fucking hilarious.

Jeff who takes a foods class in third period and Steve does to and then the teacher pairs them for a baking project and Jeff gets to go to Casa Harrington. And he realizes rather quickly that Steve really likes baking and cooking and actually knows what he’s doing and that he’s not just taking the class for an easy A.

Brian (I’ve named him Brian, yes), meets Steve in Art class. Like Jeff, he thought Steve was taking it for an easy A but when seats are changed and they sit together he realizes that, no, Steve’s actually kind of good at drawing (particularly scenery). They get to talking about one of Steve’s sketches and the rest is history.

Gareth doesn’t officially meet Steve until later, but he does see him out with the kids at the arcade. Gareth works at the arcade and there’s this particular group of kids that just irks him— turns out they’re Steve’s gaggle. He watches in begrudging amusement while Steve rounds them up like a pro.

Then Gareth officially meets him after Hellfire one day. It’s fucking windy and he’s just leaving to school to go home when the papers and sheets he was holding are fucking torn from his hands. Steve grabs the papers— there after some kind of sports practice— and makes sure Gareth has them secured in his bad before leaving with a dorky finger-waggle wave.

And Eddie just downright refuses.

And then the school year ends and Steve graduates. And he’s convinced he doesn’t have to see Steve again.

Until, of course, Mike Dustin and Lucas join.

Jeff, Gareth, and Brian are all ecstatic to share their own run-ins of Steve Harrington to the three boys who so clearly idolize him. Gareth happily recalls how Steve ��tamed” them in the arcade every time he came in.

Eddie sits in brooding silence.

And then Lucas joins the basketball team. And sure— Jeff’s on the volleyball team— but basketball jocks are so much worse than volleyball jocks.

Mike and Dustin, however thrown out of orbit they were at first, seem to settle in eventually and learn to plan around it. They think that anything that makes Lucas happy is a good thing (even if it did take a bit of a talk with Will for them to realize).

But Eddie? Eddie can’t stand it.

Which is why he refuses to move the date for the final campaign.

But Eddie doesn’t even get to introduce Vecna before Steve Harrington himself is all but breaking down the fucking door.

Eddie has this whole argument in his head that quickly dwindles when he sees the pure anger in Steve’s eyes (and also because Steve is really fucking pretty holy shit).

Steve tells Dustin Mike and Erica to pack up and get to the game before he drags them and you know what?

They listen.

Including hard ass Erica Sinclair.

And then idk Steve and Eddie get into a whole fight about.

But Steve makes it very clear that he doesn’t appreciate Eddie making Lucas feel like he can’t be happy doing DnD and basketball because that poor boy deserves nice things dammit.

And Eddie sleeps on it over the weekend before hunting Lucas down first thing Monday morning to apologize.

Lucas forgive Eddie (against Eddie’s protest because let the man grovel) but makes Eddie also apologize to Steve.

Which Eddie does by showing up to the Harrington Estate.

Eddie apologizes and they get high together and the rest is history.

I might actually make this into something, it’s already pretty fleshed out but eh

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honeytae · 3 months ago

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synopsis: a first date years in the making and a slow burn tension that simmers just beneath the surface; what used to be easy is now electric — every glance, every pause, charged with something waiting to unfold.

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

word count: 2.1k

warnings: sooo much sexual tension, first date jitters, flirting, making out, dirty talk (kinda?)

the tires roll beneath you as taehyung drives through the city. neon lights from nearby businesses and attractions flicker across the windshield, casting long shadows on the pavement.

the air is warm, even this late, and the city hums with life. you try to focus on the scenery—the curve of the streets, distant chatter—but your eyes keep drifting to the way his hand grips the gearstick between you.

it’s your first official date with taehyung, and you’ve promised to take it slow. this feels different—special. still, you can’t help watching him as he drives. since that first kiss, something inside you has shifted. every glance, every smile, now carries this quiet electricity. you haven't kissed since, both agreeing to pace yourselves—but that’s easier said than done.

you steal another glance at his skin, smooth and golden, and wonder how it would feel against yours. you imagine softness, warmth—like spring after a long winter. his jawline, that slight smirk when a new song plays: it all drives you crazy. you imagine pulling him in, kissing him again, feeling the heat and letting it unravel you.

shifting uncomfortably, you turn to the window, trying to calm your racing heart. the night is too still, too perfect—and tension lingers in the air. part of you wishes he could read your mind.

at the next stoplight, he glances at you, slow and deliberate. the car is quiet save for the soft hum of jazz from the disc you picked earlier. there’s a pull between you, something invisible but undeniable.

“kinda wild how many late nights we’ve had here,” he says, fingers tapping the wheel.

you smile. yeah—this spot has been yours for years. after bad dates, long shifts, dumb fights. it’s seen every version of you. but tonight, it feels different. maybe you're just seeing him differently now.

“we always ended up here, huh?” you say.

“like clockwork,” he replies, mouth curving up. he nudges your hand. “except this time, you’re actually dressed nice.”

you roll your eyes, laughing. “so rude.”

he grins. “i meant it as a compliment. i’ve never seen you on a first date. you clean up well.”

your heart skips. you reach out, covering his hand with yours. the warmth of him, steady and close, tightens something in your chest.

“this doesn’t feel like all those other nights,” you say softly.

he watches you, his smile softening. “no,” he says. “it doesn’t.”

and just like that, the air shifts—gentle, but unmistakable. aomething unspoken settles between you, warm and a little scary. he squeezes your hand as he pulls up to a tucked-away restaurant, its flickering lights drawing your eye. he parks and turns to you, gaze lingering.

“ready?”

you nod, clearing your throat. “yeah. let’s go.”

he catches your tone and leans back, amused. “wow.”

you glance at him, cheeks heating under his stare. “what?”

“i’ve just never seen you this nervous. not with me, at least.”

you laugh, and his grin eases your nerves. “yeah, but... things are different now.”

his smile softens again. he leans slightly across the console. “i get it. it’s weird, right? we’ve been friends for so long, and now we’re... on a date.” he chuckles, shaking his head. “but it’s still us.”

you breathe in slowly, grounding yourself in his presence. your mind feels lighter, though still foggy with want.

“thanks,” you murmur, lips pouting slightly. you don’t miss the way his eyes flick to your mouth. “it’s just... hard. the way i feel about you—it’s...” you trail off, unsure how to finish, but his smile says he gets it.

“i know,” he says quietly. “i feel it too. i’d never rush this,” he gestures between you, “we’ll go at whatever pace you want.”

you glance at the restaurant. “right now, i want to go on a date with you.”

he’s out of the car in seconds, coming around to open your door. you take his arm, laughing as he laces his fingers through yours.

inside the dim pub, shadows stretch long across the walls, creating an unexpected intimacy. you slip into a corner booth, side by side like always. the surrounding voices fade to a low hum.

after ordering, taehyung leans back, watching you. the silence between you isn’t awkward—it’s charged, like something is about to happen.

he leans closer, voice low. “so, why do i feel like something’s still on your mind?”

your brain stutters as your body leans in, too aware of how close his lips are. your fingers twitch with the urge to touch him. words and wants swirl in your head.

his eyes search yours. he knows exactly how you’re looking at him, the way your breath catches when he shifts. a smirk tugs at his lips.

“it’s okay,” he says, voice even softer. “you don’t have to say anything. i already know.”

your pulse stutters as he leans back, that teasing glint making your chest ache. you roll your eyes, trying to mask the heat inside you. standing, you toss him a look.

“whatever,” you smirk. “i’ll be right back, but try not to miss me too much.”

as you walk away, his gaze trails after you like a touch. your heartbeat picks up again as you round the corner toward the restrooms, trying to get your thoughts in order.

but when you emerge from the bathroom, taehyung is leaning against the far wall, hands in his pockets. he pushes off it and walks to meet you, stopping just close enough to feel his warmth.

“hi,” you say, grinning.

he tilts his head, watching you with something you can’t quite place.

“what?” you ask, voice light, though your chest tightens.

“you’re making me nervous now,” he says, voice softer than before.

you pause—and then he kisses you.

softly, at first. it’s only your second kiss, but it already feels like home. you easily communicate everything unspoken between you: the want, the tension, the heat. his lips move slowly, reverently, hand brushing your cheek.

then his hand moves into your hair, trailing down to your neck, and your heart pounds. his tongue teases your bottom lip and a soft sigh escapes you. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

the world around you fades—the noise, the lights, the city. it’s just him. his taste, his warmth. it’s electric.

his tongue slips into your mouth just enough to make you crave more. you moan softly as he presses you against the wall.

the sound seems to ground him. he pulls back slightly, and you clutch his arms for balance. his eyes are darker now, the playfulness edged with hunger.

“as much as i love doing that…” he breathes, raising an eyebrow. you can’t help but laugh.

“i don’t want to start something i can’t finish,” he adds, voice low and rough.

his thumb brushes your cheek, featherlight.

you lean in, lips close to his ear. “oh, i think you’d make sure i finish,” you whisper, letting your bottom lip graze his skin before pulling back.

he freezes. then flushes. deeply.

and giggles.

you beam, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers through his. it feels so natural.

“where’d those nerves go?” he teases, peeking at you through his fingers.

you shrug, grinning. “pretty sure you extracted them as soon as you kissed me again.”

he chuckles and tugs you back toward the booth, never letting go of your hand. laughter bubbles between you.

once seated, he flips through the menu, still grinning.

“and just for the record…” he says, not looking up. “you absolutely would.”

“would what?” you ask absentmindedly, scanning the menu over his shoulder.

“finish.”

you cough on your drink. he slides you a napkin, other hand on your back, smirk spreading.

the casualness only makes it worse. or better.

you turn slowly, smile full of heat. “careful,” you murmur. “third date me is a lot less well-behaved.”

his eyes darken instantly, pupils wide.

“you say that like it’s a threat,” he says, voice husky.

you lean closer, knees brushing. “oh no,” you whisper. “it’s a promise.”

his smirk deepens, but his voice is soft—almost reverent.

“god, i cannot wait.”

#bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts x reader #bts fluff #kim taehyung fanfiction #kim taehyung imagines #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung imagines #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #tag: isilyf

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kumkaniudaku · 3 months ago

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Smooches

Summary: First kisses are on the menu for Terry and Patrice.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 5.6K

Warnings: None

First kisses were as integral to young people's lives as their first words and first steps. In all their variations, they carried memories to keep for a lifetime if one was sentimental enough to tuck them away deep in the recesses of one's mind.

When Terry was 8, he kissed a girl named Carmen during a summer in New Orleans. He couldn't pick her out of a lineup at 18, but he would always remember how her lips tasted spicy as if she'd just finished a bowl of jalapenos before she found him at the park to play house. He didn't want to kiss her, but he was the daddy, and she was the mommy. They had to make the game realistic. Carmen later told anyone who would listen that she was his girlfriend, and for about two weeks, he went along with the bit until she found some other boy to make the daddy, and he was just a memory. He didn't mind. Her lips were too spicy, and he was going back to Fayetteville anyway. Her loss.

Patrice's first kiss came years later and as a deliberate choice during day camp the summer before high school. Anthony was a tall, slender, biracial boy who was as close to Patrick from B5 as she could get. They both volunteered as counselors in training and found the one window of unsupervised time to touch lips behind the slide while they were supposed to be watching a group of six-year-olds play. While Patrice found the experience magical enough to begin dreaming of wedding dresses and fall ceremony dates, Anthony considered the quick peck a blip on his radar. The next day, he kissed another girl he later made his girlfriend. Her first and last kiss as a budding teenager was clouded in devastation. She couldn't allow it to happen again.

On a charter bus cruising down the interstate toward Orlando, Florida, full of rowdy teenagers and not enough adult supervision, Patrice sent text messages to her best friend, Napheesa, while seated next to her boyfriend. Boyfriend. A week later, the reality of dating Terrence Richmond still hadn't set in. Not even as he held her free hand while staring out of the window at nothing in particular. In random spurts, his thumb would gently caress hers, sending the butterflies making a home inside her belly into a frenzy. She had to get that kiss.

PheePhee: Y’all shld do it @ the park tonite!

Patrice considered the proposition before turning her head to look at Terry peacefully enjoying the scenery. He hadn’t said much outside of morning pleasantries and asking if she wanted a snack from his bag, which she declined for the moment. The rest of their three hours inside a rolling daycare were spent in relative, content silence. She turned back to her phone and smiled.

Mizz Richmond: ok. but we gotta get far away from ms. peterson. she’ll tell my mama.

PheePhee: Tht wont b hard. She cnt walk dat fast lol

A giggle slipped from Patrice’s mouth, drawing Terry’s attention from the world beyond rows and rows of talkative high school students. He watched her type with her free hand with a smile, admiring the sun’s insistence on making her even brown skin glow in early afternoon light. Girlfriend. In only a week, referring to Patrice’s new place in his life became as easy as saying his own name. What hadn’t come easy was pretending he didn’t daydream about the second they could turn middle school cheek kisses into the real thing.

Sneaking away from the crowd was nearly impossible. Their parents were getting wind of a new kind of relationship, which left little room for privacy. He couldn’t liplock in five measly seconds of his mother turning her head to answer the phone. Terry wanted—no, Terry needed—the freedom of time to satisfy an urge he’d been keeping at bay since his junior year. Two hours and counting on a bus moving painfully slow gave him ample time to plan his approach.

Scooting closer, Terry tried to take a peek at Patrice’s phone to no avail. “What are you laughing at?” he asked, curious about what kind of silly back-and-forth she and Napheesa were into from two rows away.

“You’re so nosy.” Patrice admonished with a playful smile that invited Terry to mirror her expression. Her hand squeezed his tighter. For a moment, Terry considered taking his chances right then and there. “We were just talking about our outfits for tonight,” she lied. “We’re gonna wear pink.”

“That’s cute. I like you in pink.” And blue. Red, green, yellow – she encompassed the entire spectrum of light like no one he’d ever seen before.

Terry offered Patrice his full attention, his gaze intently focused on the curve of full lips into an innocent smile before his eyes drifted up to meet hers. She shook her head and giggled. “You like me in every color, TJ. Last week it was blue! Make up your mind.”

“It’s both. It’ll be something different next week, too.”

Had Terry’s friends been privy to the googly eyes being exchanged two rows ahead of their loud-talking, crude, joke-telling boys-only club in the back of the bus, they would’ve added him to their roast session. Fortunately for him, only Napheesa was aware of their love fest. She sent a cheeky wink in Patrice’s direction before turning in her seat to rattle off one more text.

PheePhee: yll so cute :). If you don’t do it tonite, u lame

Lame was a step too far. Shy? Maybe. Nervous? For sure. But, in high school, earning a reputation as "lame" could linger long after your four years came to their natural end. For a girl finally climbing out of the doldrums of relative obscurity, Patrice might squander all of her social cache if word got around that she was lame. Napheesa considered her playful taunting a success once they settled into their shared budget hotel room to plan pink outfits to cover for Patrice's earlier fib and plot a first kiss.

On the boy's side of the building, Terry listened to a room full of unwelcomed occupants concoct schemes for a weekend meant to reward good behavior. Borrowed cologne left a light sheen on his favorite gold chain as he studied himself in the mirror, trying to anticipate what Patrice might find worthy of a compliment and tuning out something Nate was saying about buying Napheesa a gift with a day of his food money. He didn't notice the stir his spritz of mature and aquatic smell good had created until the jeering started.

"We got fuckin' Chris Brown over here," one boy commented, earning snickers from the others.

Nate chimed in. "Nigga swear he somebody daddy!"

"Uncle Terry, face ass!"

Racing thoughts and a belly full of nerves turned typically calm Terry's ears bright red as a signal to all in his vicinity that a latent volcano was primed to erupt. Sensing the tremors of a blow-up, Corey stepped in to diffuse a situation going south as Terry turned around to dole out choice words.

"Man, chill out," he interjected, trying to laugh off the slow clenching and unclenching of his best friend's first. "Y'all niggas about to go play like a bunch of kids. Terry got plans for tonight."

Nate cocked his head back in confusion. "We all got plans. We're going to the same place."

"You ain't planning to kiss your girl tonight. Y'all not cultured enough to…to capture the romance of such a time like this. You niggas don't read books and shit. Watch movies. Just hand in your pants all day being weirdos."

"Nigga, that was one time!"

Quick wit and a silver tongue helped wiggle Terry out of an explanation he didn't care to share. He'd thank Corey with a monetary reimbursement at the earliest opportunity. He had other thoughts on his mind. The last time he showed affection, they drew a crowd that lasted for days on end. This time, he'd move like vapors in the wind – barely perceptible until they're right in front of your nose.

The conversation never returned to Terry's business; instead, they hopped from harmless jokes to their plan for when their entire senior class was dumped on sacred Disney ground and allowed to roam the park with other students from around the world. Shoddy blueprints for meetup spots, the perfect place to evade attention, and how they'd rub five nickels together to make a five-star meal followed them out of their hotel room, to the charter bus, and into a few rows at the back of their shuttle.

Terry went in and out of listening to crane his neck, hoping he could catch a glimpse of Patrice. And that he did. A pastel pink tank top covering sunkissed brown shoulders gave him thoughts of a strawberry sundae on the hottest day of the year. Ms. Peterson's lack of attention allowed a slightly too short tennis skirt to bypass detection by everyone except Terry, who couldn't help but get a look at mile-long legs. She didn't break lively chatter with Napheesa and a few other girls, leaving Terry to stare shamelessly as she engaged without care. He had to kiss her. Through hell and high water, tonight was the night.

Though seemingly distracted in a world of gossip and matching outfits, Patrice was on the same wavelength. She'd seen Terry well before he saw her, thanks to a keen eye from her best friend. The gold chain caught her attention first. It was her favorite accessory of his, especially when paired with an irresistible haircut and a white t-shirt that highlighted the deep tan of his late spring skin tone. A visual to pair with the fantasy made all the preparation worth it.

As the bus careened to a stop with neither of them hip to the other's plan of attack, Terry watched Patrice file down the aisle behind Napheesa, still laughing and smiling without a clue in the world.

Perfect, he thought to himself. The less time Patrice had to prepare and worry, the better.

Corey regarded Terry's intense stare and impatiently bouncing knee with a laugh before pushing an elbow into Terry's arm. "You ready, man? You got until 2 in the morning to make it happen. How you gon' do it?"

"Uh…" Terry hadn't considered much of the mechanics. He'd kissed before, but not with this much built-in pressure. He shrugged innocently. "I don't know. I guess I'll just…do it."

A chuckle caught him off guard. "A'ight man. Not gonna lie, the thought process is kinda shitty, but you do you," Corey conceded. "You good?"

Fear tensed every muscle in Terry's body, forcing him to respond to Corey with a stiff, unconvincing nod.

"Yeah, yeah," Terry offered too quickly to be anything close to the truth. "I'm ready. Yeah. I'm…good. I'm good."

Long seconds passed as Corey examined Terry's eyes darting around and teeth leaving an impression in lips bitten to a near swell. "Right." He thought to leave things alone but couldn't help but offer advice. "Aye. Take a breath, bruh. Just like…" Corey's words tapered as he mimed an inhale and exhale for Terry to follow.

Terry pulled in air and released it in one shaky whistle, nodding his appreciation for Corey's assistance before standing to his full height to exit the safety of private wishes into the uncertainty of action.

Any sense of serenity Terry had worked to obtain and maintain was once again washed away when he saw their regular crew mixing and mingling as a singular blob of almost adults. Terry cursed to himself as he searched the group for a familiar high ponytail and gold hoop earrings.

"TJ! I'm over here!" A sweet voice calling out his name produced goosebumps on Terry's skin. Again, she'd found him before he could find him.

As he took long strides to join Patrice, all sense of time and space turned into a void with only her face as a guiding light. Terry gravitated toward her like a pirate to gold or precious metal to a magnet. He tried his best to look alluring during a journey that felt like a grueling walk through the Egyptian desert, not the short trek across aging asphalt.

Patrice stood wondering why Terry looked so focused and sleepy at the same time. Was he tired? Was something in his eye? Had he just woken up from a nap on the bus? And why was he looking at her mouth like–

"Oh, damn."

Napheesa's astonished slip of the tongue spoke for Patrice, giving words to lips caught up in the rapture of sweet affection. She forced her eyes closed as Terry pulled her closer by the hips to add more pressure to an unexpected but welcomed peck. Her hands soon found his growing biceps, gripping softly to hold her steady in his embrace.

They stood there, suspended in a moment that felt like forever despite lasting but a few seconds. Napheesa kept watch, soon joined by Corey, who used his slight body to shield them from rubberneckers too far outside their business. Napheesa scanned the immediate area, and once she noticed a chaperone seemingly headed their way, she loudly cleared her throat to alert the lovebirds.

Slowly, Terry pulled away, leaving Patrice to hold her pucker with eyes still closed and a still buzzing, fuzzy brain that hadn't quite registered the moment's end. He chuckled before using his thumb to clean up errant lipgloss on the sides of her lips. He laughed while watching her eyes slowly flutter open. "Hey."

"Hi." Patrice's greeting came in an airy sigh carrying a dazed smile like she'd just been knocked out and brought back into paradise. "Oh, you got a little," she started, pointing at the sticky strawberry gloss sheening his lips. "Let me get it."

Terry allowed Patrice the privilege of cleaning up their happy accident, feeling so electrified by her undivided focus that he hadn't realized his hands were still glued to her waist. Not that either of them minded. He'd hold her close for the rest of the night, and she'd gladly find comfort in his arms if circumstances were different and his status as a student on a school trip didn't come with constant surveillance.

They foolishly put all the rules out of their minds. Careful touches working to erase evidence of their eventful greeting drew attention to the known couple as Ms. Peterson walked closer to begin her speech on appropriate behavior.

She adjusted her glasses and shook her head before speaking. "Terrence and Patrice, let's try to keep our hands to ourselves this evening, hm?"

A deep skin tone kept the evidence of total embarrassment off Patrice's face as she sheepishly stepped out of Terry's grip. "Yes ma'am. Sorry."

"Will do," Terry answered, not feeling guilt or shame for his actions. "Won't happen again." It wouldn't happen again in front of her or any other adult. But to say he wouldn't jump at the chance to turn a simple kiss into something even more exciting if given the space and opportunity was a lie.

"Thank you, kindly," Ms. Peterson answered, her curt smile daring either of them to step out of line again. "Now, let's get into a few rules. Number One: don't act a fool in here. Number Two: Refrain from acting a fool inside these people's park."

Rules 3 - 10 were more of the same; variations on how not to embarrass a staff already running on fumes to finish another tiring school year and reminders to remain vigilant if some unrecognizable face attempted to lure them away from the group. Terry and Patrice tried to look engaged, nodding as if deeply concerned about remaining perfect pupils and not imagining the next opportunity for an all-consuming kiss.

Pockets of chatter from uninterested teenagers antsy to get inside Magic Kingdom's gates cut Ms. Peterson's droning speech short, resigning her to the fact that someone would end the night in deep trouble no matter what she said.

She sighed and dropped her arms in defeat. "Just…please don't die or get abducted. Come back with all your limbs or at least a really good excuse for us to tell your parents. Stay close until we get through the turnstiles."

Terry, Patrice, and the Francis High 2010 senior class could agree to those conditions.

Side by side and giddy as pigs cooling their skin in mud, blossoming lovers fought hard to maintain a healthy distance within the crowd. Their respective friend groups, an uneven but familiar group of boys and girls, made plans without consulting the others. They only realized their mistakes once they stopped to regroup just beyond the gates.

"Wait, we're going to see the castle first then Fantasyland to get gifts. Where are y'all going," Napheesa asked in confusion.

Nate chimed in. "Don't nobody wanna see no damn castle, girl. We goin' to TomorrowLand."

"They're literally right beside each other." Katrina's intrusion earned confused looks that momentarily ended the bickering. She kissed her teeth and shrugged. "I'm just sayin'."

"Don't say nothin' else," Corey chided before redirecting his attention to the rest of the girls. "Look we got all night to see the castle. Why can't we catch the rides while the lines are short?"

Alexandria, a late entry to the group, kissed her teeth. "Because don't nobody care about Space Mountain! That shit lame!"

Another round of infighting drew attention from other teenagers, leaving Terry and Patrice as the two mediators for the group. They sighed in tandem.

"Alright, alright. Let's just split up." The bass in Terry's voice startled everyone into submissive silence, waiting for him to elaborate. Patrice shot Napheesa an annoyed look to convey how badly she'd mangled their carefully thought-out plan. Her friend mouthed an "I'm sorry" as Terry continued. "We'll do all the Tomorrowland stuff by ourselves, y'all do your thing, and we'll meet up in the middle for food and fireworks in two hours. We can figure out the rest after that."

"Yes, sir, Major Payne, sir," Robert joked, earning laughs from the group and a tense side eye from Terry that he did his best to ignore. Tensions still ran high between them. If he wanted to return to the hotel without knowing what the ground felt like, he knew that was his one pass for the night.

Napheesa giggled her way back into the spotlight. "Okay, cool. Let's meet at the Winnie the Pooh ride at 11:30. Y'all know how to tell time, or y'all need a reminder?"

Laughter from the girls elicited annoyed grumbles from a group of guys who had had enough of intelligence jokes at their expense. They quickly waved her off and started in the opposite direction, leaving Terry behind to say goodbye.

He leaned in for a kiss on Patrice's cheek, murmuring, "I'll see you later," before turning to join the boys with an easy jog.

Patrice watched her Prince Charming disappear into throngs of fantasy loves and thrill seekers, reclaiming her earlier daze with a wide grin that made her girls coo 'awww' in chorus.

"Y'all are so cute," Alexandria commented after a soft sigh. "When y'all get married, can I be the flower girl?"

"You'll literally be like 20-something," Katrina retorted.

Napheesa scoffed as she began walking toward the castle. "You really think they gon' wait that long? She already misses him now. Let's go before she chases after him."

Chasing after him was a fleeting thought Patrice elected not to satisfy in favor of following her friends off toward the closest fairytale. The urge she couldn't push away was the unrelenting thought of his lips on hers.

It followed her to a spirited photo in front of Cinderella’s Castle when Katrina’s hand on her lower back brought back the spark she felt when Terry’s fingers trailed along the single bits of exposed skin on her sides. When she shook the flashes of electricity away, they left only to come back stronger with the stomach-flipping experience that was the Mad Tea Party attraction. As her friends tested the limits of the spinning tea cup whipping ‘round and ‘round with reckless abandon, the flutter in her stomach, sure to induce vomit in any other circumstance, mimicked the butterflies reminding Patrice that she was alive to experience the culmination of her personal friends to lovers young adult novel. She’d flipped a page. She’d been kissed on purpose with no indication that the boy on the other end would run away from their hidden spot behind the slide and choose someone else.

Terry wouldn’t dream of running away from Patrice. While she enjoyed the company of lively young women somewhere nearby, he was caught up in unshakeable daydreams about the next time they’d be face to face. In his attempt to surprise her and remove any possibility of doubt, he’d surprised himself. Terry had no clue he’d gripped with such desire to turn Patrice’s face into a monument to leave gifts of affection for all time. While she thought about him in every giggle and smile in her direction from a cute but ultimately meaningless boy, he couldn’t shake the need to have her around, not just for a chance to hold and be held, but also to have his best friend back. Jokes were less funny when she wasn’t nearby to share them. Screaming on Space Mountain missed a tinge of spark without Patrice joining him in excitement from the adjacent seat. The Carousel of Progress needed her historical commentary to cut through the mind-numbing boredom he experienced with a group of boys disturbing the peace for fun. Food didn’t smell as good without her pulling him toward the turkey wing stand.

But, as soon as the longing began to overtake their ability to have fun, the clock struck fifteen minutes past 11 to release Patrice from the whimsy of Winnie the Pooh’s adventures and deposited her into the adjoining gift shop for her to search for Terry in every passerby.

“If they don’t show up in 5 minutes, I say we go eat without them. They can call if they get lost.”

Napheesa made her announcement to a collection of Piglet, Tigger, Eeyore, and Winnie plushies without looking up to verify if Patrice was listening.

Patrice twirled a necklace between her fingers, trying to play it cool. “Okay,” she answered with no conviction. “That’s cool. I guess we can do that and I’ll text them or something.”

She hoped she wouldn’t have to. If the most magical place on Earth was real, she could wish upon a star and think Terrence into existence. While she did her best to clear her mind by browsing, Terry and his posse of goofy, loud, and silly friends clamored into the gift shop, causing a ruckus. Napheesa, Alexandria, and Katrina groaned their disapproval of the six boys pushing and shoving their way into the shop. Patrice might have joined them if not for the sight of Terry robbing her of any ability to find an angry bone in her body.

Chaste hellos replaced the hug. They wanted to avoid extra eyes, so they jumped right into conversation. Terry wordlessly stepped next to Patrice while the others went to find victims to annoy and picked up a stuffed Winnie for inspection. “We gotta get my boy some pants.”

His silly observation dissolved Patrice into sweet-sounding giggles that immediately invited him in.

“Sometimes you gotta make space for all that food,” Patrice giggled. “You should know as much as you eat! You talking about yourself, Pooh!”

Terry tossed the stuffed toy into the air and caught it with ease. “I’m Pooh, huh,” he asked, the wheels turning in his head. Patrice hummed her agreement. “Bet. Then you’re Piglet. You got that little squeaky voice and the whole liking flowers thing in common.”

“You can never just say something nice. My voice is not squeaky,” Patrice laughed.

“My bad, Piggy. We’ll keep it at the flowers, then. Cool?”

Patrice mulled over the compromise and smiled. “That’s cool, Pooh.”

“Blah, blah, blah. Nigga can we eat!”

A tender moment shared in the center of the buzzing store was quickly cut short by an impatiently annoying Nathan itching to grab a meal that fit his dwindling budget. Twin screw faces flashed in his direction made the boy lift his hands in surrender. “My fault, I’m just say-”

“Damn, Nate. We get it. We comin’!” Patrice’s attitude amused Terry and sent Nate scrambling away with a displeased mumble under his breath.

When he was out of dodge, Terry placed the toy back on the shelf and extended his hand for Patrice to grab. “C’mon. I’ll pay for this one.”

Their fingers slid together with ease and never separated. Not during a spirited late-night dinner at The Friar’s Nook, not as Mario sang Braid My Hair on the stage near Cinderella’s Castle, and certainly not during the beginning of a spectacular fireworks display capturing everyone’s attention.

Bursts of blue, yellow, red, and purple light erupted across a pitch-black sky, turning the expanse of darkness into a colorful display of awe-inspiring magic over the castle’s highest point. While the others murmured ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ at the sheer spectacle of it all, Patrice melded herself into Terry’s side, looking up at the show from his eyes. He was content with consuming the wonder of Michael Mouse until he found a dainty set of fingers turning his face away from the excitement.

“Hm,” he hummed, smiling down at Patrice.

She didn’t answer with words. Harnessing strength from some unknown source, Patrice used tired calves to push her body up on toes aching from overuse and press her lips against Terry’s.

They fell into an easy rhythm like seasoned partners, maneuvering the ebbs and flows of physical intimacy like people twice their age with even more experience. A quiet back and forth of unspoken ‘I love yous” shared between bodies supercharged with emotion became wrapped in movie-worthy enchantment. Terry and Patrice wanted more of each other. They needed more. Even as Terry’s arms moved to hug Patrice closer and her arms found a home on his shoulder, they craved more.

“Oh damn.”

Napheesa repeated her earlier shock as she elbowed Corey to join in on observing all they’d worked so hard to orchestrate.

Standing in a crowd of strangers and friends alike with fireworks bursting like friendly bombs overhead, Terry and Patrice locked lips for the second kiss of their young relationship. The need for oxygen paled compared to the need to taste each other. Fear and trepidation were long gone. With no room left for Jesus, Terry and Patrice had never felt more alive.

“I love you,” Patrice whispered against his mouth, still trying to keep the sparks alive.

Terry offered similar sentiments after two quick pecks. “I love you, too.”

Finally pulling away left them breathless and giggling as the end of the presentation neared. Their noses rubbed as a truce to take a break and enjoy the night without adding a third session to the list.

Fortunately, promises of a romantic nature could be broken without consequence. A third kiss was too perfect to pass up while they waited in line for The Haunted Mansion. Then, the need to end on an even number opened the gate for a bevy of smooches before they returned to their respective hotel rooms high on life.

The next morning’s excursion to a water park to escape the Florida heat, they picked up where they’d left off, finding time for quick pecks by the wave pool and in the lazy river while Terry pushed Patrice along in her lime green floaty. Dingy carpet, arcade games, and subpar fried cheese couldn’t keep them from each other between rounds of laser tag and pop-a-shot. Kisses skillfully hidden from authority figures before bed on their final night still couldn’t satiate their appetites.

Though eight hours on the road forced them into a brief intermission, they emerged hotter and heavier after hurrying through conversation with Deidra and Marvin in hopes of borrowing the car keys to cart Patrice home.

In the parking lot of a dimly lit McDonalds, they put aside lukewarm fries and spicy Sprites to add touches of tongue to their new favorite hobby. Back-to-back phone calls from Leon and Rosalyn separated them prematurely, pulling them away from their private oasis to begrudgingly end the best weekend of their young lives.

Rosalyn heard the car roll into the driveway in the early minutes of another Law and Order episode and the Sunday sunset but chose to stay put in favor of resting for the first time all evening. The engine shut off, the booming bass from the radio went silent, and doors opened then shut without much fanfare. If not for the murmur of conversation with giggles peppered into the breaks, she would’ve stayed put. But curiosity got the best of her despite her attempts to stay focused on the television.

Peering through the curtains with much of her body hidden in shadows, Rosalyn caught the beginning of renewed energy in what Terry and Patrice assumed was a safe moment.

Excitement coursed through Terry’s veins as he pressed his body weight into Patrice’s torso to trap her against the passenger door and brought her hands to the back of his head. “Gimme a kiss,” he murmured into her collarbone as he kissed his way to her cheek. “I need another one.”

“No, you don’t,” Patrice teased, intending to grant his request. “Come get it.”

Terry answered the tease on command, dragging kisses from Patrice’s cheeks to her lips without missing a beat. Soft pecks morphed into slow kisses teetering on the French variety until roaming hands gripped Patrice’s backside and caused her to yelp in surprise.

Patrice giggled a girlish, “Stop it!” earning a laugh from Terry.

“You really want me to?”

“No,” she answered before leaning in to kiss him again. She pulled back and bit her lip. “I liked it.”

From what Rosalyn could see, an intervention was necessary to keep two crazy kids from going too far in the driveway. She chose to spare Patrice the embarrassment of her mother appearing at the front door and flipped the porch light on as a warning. Patrice’s entire body tensed in Terry’s embrace before she wiggled out of confinement to collect her things. Terry took the hint and resumed his duties as a gentleman to carry her suitcase up the short flight of steps.

“I can come pick you up in the morning if you’re still goin’ to school tomorrow,” Terry offered as he pressed the front doorbell for Patrice’s convenience.

She smiled. “I call shotgun.” Her failed attempt at being flirtatious made them both laugh. “God, Napheesa might be right. I am lame!”

“Nah, you’re perfect.” Terry’s compliment came with twinkling eyes filled with an emotion Patrice couldn’t quite place with her limited knowledge. He grabbed her hand for a kiss but stopped short when a squeaking bike announced Junior’s presence.

He abandoned the two-wheeled vehicle in the yard before it could come to a complete stop and immediately assumed the role of younger brother and chief agitator.

“Get a room or something. Gross.” His kiddie reprimand came with a grimace as he pushed between them to unlock the front door and enter the crisp air conditioning.

Rosalyn made her appearance with a deliberate walk past the storm door, waving with a smile. “Good to have you home, P. I didn’t hear you pull up. Hi, Terry! Thanks for dropping my baby off. You’re so sweet.” Exaggerated happiness instantly piqued Patrice’s curiosity, but she remained quiet.

“Ah, it’s no problem,” Terry answered, suddenly bashful.

His last functioning brain cell reminded him of Patrice’s suitcase. He rushed to move the bag inside before hurriedly turning to the girl whose tongue had become his favorite dessert over the weekend.

Terry reached out for a hug for Patrice to return, both of them making a show of maintaining the appropriate amount of distance to appease an amused Rosalyn.

“See you tomorrow,” Patrice mumbled into Terry’s shoulder.

“Yeah. I’ll pick you up.” Pulling away, he took one last look at her pretty face, resisted the devil on his shoulder clamoring for one more kiss, then turned to acknowledge Rosalyn again. “Tell Mr. Ellis my dad said the garage is ready for the playoffs whenever he wants to stop by.”

She nodded. “I’ll let him now, sweetheart. You drive safe now.”

Both ladies watched Terry hurry down the front porch steps to his car to avoid awkwardness in their conversation triangle. When he was out of the driveway, Patrice quietly closed and latched the door.

“HeymamaIthinkI’mjustgonnatakeallthisstuffinmyroomberightback.” The entire sentence came out in a mess of words pushed together for one incomprehensible sentence.

Rosalyn chuckled as Patrice rushed past her with all her luggage in tow. “Alright then, Petey. You want some red velvet cake? I can cut you a slice.”

Patrice mumbled something that sounded like she could go for a bit of sugar with a trail of wind creating a gust of cool air behind her.

Letting what she’d seen and heard go was an option for Rosalyn. She could allow her daughter to live in la la land for a little longer, peacefully thinking her mother hadn’t been privy to her displays of affection moments earlier. Or she could have the conversation she’d been putting off since she noticed two innocent teenagers shifting their relationship toward something more romantically involved.

“P! How about I bring the cake to you?”

A door down the hallway creaked open. “Okay. That works. Thank you!”

Nodding, Rosalyn took a deep breath and sent a silent prayer to God. She’d chosen the tough route and would need all the Lord’s support she could get.

------

Reply if you'd like to be tagged in future work!

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @hrlzy @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl @ariiijestertheklown @blyffe @tvchi @wabi-sabi1090 @blackmoonchilee @flydotty @aldrigmer444 @ash-ketchumzzz @nayaesworld @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @writingsbytee @teddybeerz @trippyscotch @theogbadbitch @ghostfacekill-monger @nyifly22 @kaylalb @literallegendicon @dee-deelovesyouu @drdimplesj

#aaron pierre #terry richmond #terry richmond x black oc #rebel ridge #terryxpatrice

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frillsand · 2 years ago

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Hey, I hope you’re having a good day/night!!

I was curious if we could learn a bit more about Janet? I know that we probably should hate her, but I can’t help but being sympathetic towards her. Being an assistant is already stressful, so having a sassy boss definitely isn’t making her life easier.

Of course, only if you want to share!!

Thank you!

Very understandable that people would feel bad for Janet. But she wasn’t always an overworked assistant.

She was Welcome Home’s first director

She wasn’t too fond of the fact that she was stuck working on kids shows. And she especially didn’t like Wally in particular, she didn’t like how easy he got a job as a co-director for his own show. Don’t know if it’s because he’s a puppet or not but she does mostly hate him and ignores the others .

She tried sabotaging the show on a few other occasions but nothing that would stop production.

Until Janet went as far as to destroy the set.

Everything was broken and damaged. Props were broken, mural panels were painted over, and a lot of equipment was destroyed.

Upon discovery, Wally made the mistake of entering first, unsteady prop walls came down and almost crushed him.

It was obvious who had done it, Janet wasn’t exactly subtle with her dislike of Wally( she also completely forgot the existence of security cameras). The producer didn’t like that and she was almost fired but Wally made a proposition.

She either gets kicked out of the industry or accept a job as Wally’s assistant.

Janet, obviously not wanting to get banned from her line of work, accepts the offer. And as generous as the offer sounded, Wally didn’t do it with the kindness of his heart, he planned to make her job a living hell for almost killing him that day.

Anyway lesson of the story, don’t be like Janet. Use your brain and refrain from almost accidentally killing your coworkers

If you see mistakes, no you don’t 💕

All art for this post was by @artsybug0 😘🫶

Thank them because I wasn’t going to draw anything of this in the first place As you can tell by all my blank background art, I hate drawing scenery so much

Byyyee

#nothing makes sense #let’s pretend it does #im tired #wally darling #welcome home puppet show #welcome home actor au #wally actor au #welcome home #actor au #diva wally #actor wally darling #welcome home au #wh actor Au

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drawingtutorialforkids · 3 months ago

Video

youtube

How to Draw National Monument of Bangladesh Easy | National Memorial of Bangladesh Drawing

Todays topic is National Memorial of Bangladesh drawing, as well as how to draw national monument of Bangladesh easily. ২৬ শে মার্চের/স্বাধীনতা দিবস উপলক্ষে ছবি আকা দেখানো হয়েছে ।

🏛️ Also learn:

❂ How to draw independence day of Bangladesh

✧ Bangladesh independence day drawing

✮ 26 March independence day drawing bangladesh

✶ Independence Day drawing Bangladesh easy

Greetings and Happy Independence Day to everyone. I deeply respect all the martyrs who lost their lives in the freedom struggle of Bangladesh. Today I have drawn this picture on the occasion of Bangladesh's Independence Day (March 26). Many of you find it very difficult to draw this memorial. So I have shown it to you very easily with the help of my finger. You will understand if you watch it carefully.

Dear viewers, this video is about the rules for drawing the National Memorial of Bangladesh. I hope that those who cannot draw memorials easily and children who cannot draw memorials will be able to draw memorials easily after watching this tutorial video.

To draw the video, you will need:

An art paper

A scale of 12 inches

A pencil

A black ink pen

A golden color pencil or brush pen

Dear viewers, I regularly post tutorial videos and reels on drawing and craft art on this page. If you like my drawings, SUBSCRIBE to my CHANNEL.

✅꧁𝓢𝓾𝓫𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓫𝓮: https://www.youtube.com/c/FarinKhanArtAcademy

#independenceday #independencedayspecial #independencedaydrawing #independencedaydrawingeasy #independencedaydrawingveryeasy

#youtube #national memorial of bangladesh drawing #how to draw national monument of bangladesh easy #how to draw national memorial of bangladesh #২৬ শে মার্চের ছবি আঁকা #স্মৃতিসৌধ আঁকার সহজ নিয়ম #স্বাধীনতা দিবস উপলক্ষে ছবি আকা #স্বাধীনতা দিবসের ছবি আঁকা দেখাও #মহান স্বাধীনতা দিবস উপলক্ষে ছবি আঁকা #স্বাধীনতা দিবসের ছবি আঁকা #how to draw 26 march scenery

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eggfriedricedwasian · 5 months ago

Text

If we wanna talk parallels in Damian and Tim lets also talk about art parallels between them.

Damian does traditional art with a canvas, paper, paint, pencil and such. Tim does digital art.

Damian doesn't like digital art because he can't figure it out.

Tim doesn't like traditional art because it isn't easy to erase mistakes.

They watch each other draw.

Tim once saw Damian draw the most perfect line with paint and move on.

Damian watched Tim zoom in on part of a drawing to draw individual lines on a suit. He also watched him draw and backspace that same line a gazillion time before moving on and doing the same thing for the other gazillion lines even though they looked perfect. (I'm talking to you @kyuyua )

Although they can do each other's forms of drawing, just slightly different.

Damian prefers making more abstract art digitally because he isn't going to post it and no one's going to see it so he has free will to erase it any time he wants to. That or he does lasso art. Yk, cartoon Carmen Sandiego(I think) styled art.

Tim does more 3d art like architect model or he does oil pastels. Tim loves oil pastels. He makes 3d art out of oil pastels. Don't ask him how, just watch or see it for yourself.

Tim doesn't make people though, he only makes sceneries. Plants. Still life. People are too hard.

Damian only makes people. Animals. Backgrounds are too hard.

But, if you put them both together, they can make something beautiful. Tim makes the background and Damian makes the life.

Alone, each aspect looks good, but together it looks amazing.

#dc #tim drake #batfam #batfam headcanons #damian wayne #tim drake and damian wayne #they're brothers your honor #i love them #parallels #irony #art

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sincerelyverena · 1 year ago

Text

⟡⁺ PUPPY PRINCESS

. . . OLIVER QUICK X FELIX CATTON X FEM!READER ‘you know me as your boyfriend's goofy friend.’ @watercolorskyy

inbox is always open to requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒as felix's girlfriend, you've never had a longing for anyone else. except oliver. you bring up the idea of the two of you fucking the meeker male, and surprisingly, felix complies.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒smut ﹐threesome ﹐sub!oliver ﹐dom!felix ﹐reader and felix are an established pairing ﹐reader is a freak﹐reader treating oliver like the princess he is ﹐mainly focused on reader and oliver﹐felix is the core of the pairing ﹐mutual pining ﹐public sex﹐pussy worship ﹐tongue-fucking ﹐anal ﹐pet names ﹐implied aftercare

THANK YOU TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READERS: @sparklehani ﹐@vikwrites

Oliver Quick. Your kryptonite.

Feeble Oliver from Oxford, who would’ve guessed? Over the fragile rim of the porcelain tea cup pressed to your lips, you scrutinized an oblivious Oliver. A particular aura radiated off of him, a glow you had never encountered from your brief acquaintance on campus.

Was it attractive? Immensely.

You adverted your attention off Oliver as a skyscraper-remanent individual bounded through the doorway. A chorus of greetings rose in the air at the sight of Felix Catton, the contagious energy you esteem to be your boyfriend of six months. The manicured length of your nails tapped along your fragile teacup as Felix made a beeline straight to the vacant seat beside you.

“I told you to go easy with the wine, Fi.” You scolded him playfully, reaching upward to draw your thumbs across the thin, darkened areas illustrating Felix’s under-eyes.

The molten brown of Felix’s eyes twinkle mischievously. “I drank it like any other bottle of alcohol you offered me.”

You inclined your head upwards, heart giving an absentminded flutter as you felt the warmth of his lips encaptured your own. It was more of a peck, rather than a kiss but the searing heat you reciprocated was a welcoming sensation nevertheless.

“Wine makes you sleepy though.”

Felix responded with a joking grumble and a hand to the inner mound of your thigh. The corners of your lips quirk up endearingly.

As you drew your attention to the lukewarm cup of tea perched before you, you caught sight of Oliver. More specifically, how the coolness of his ocean-dripping eyes bored into you. The fashion in which the thick lashes lined his eyes, which fluttered innocently. How the aquamarine speckles of his hues flickered towards Felix, who rubbed absentminded circles into the base of your thigh. A heat circulated in his surveying gaze, a heat that directly arrowed toward your abdomen. Pooling, molten warmth that dripped down the sleight of your back and ran under your skin.

The edge of your tongue flickers over your suddenly dry lips. All you can think about. All you can even render is the idea of Felix’s girth straining against Oliver’s heat. His best friend’s head smuggled between your thighs.

The scandalous nature of these images protrudes your thoughts for the rest of the day. The heat that resulted followed you to the point where you were aware of how your arousal soaked a patch through your thong.

As the hours ticked by, the horizon continuously darkened. Ridding the atmosphere from the rays of sun illuminance. The sky is painted in a fluid darkness. Stars scattered the canvas of twilight, an immense contrast against the crystal-clear waters of the estate rivers. Shadows chased each other across Saltburn, like spirits, discovered in every untouched crook and crevice. The ideal scenery for the night swim Felix had prompted you and the three others into.

Farleigh and Venetia had made an early exit a few minutes prior, tired eyes proclaiming a desire for their beds. This left you and Felix, the two of you sprawled upon inclined lounges by one of the various lakes tucked into the estate yards. Oliver, on the other hand, drifts across the deep, clear waters that rippled around his physique. Revealing a stomach that caused the ache haunting the space between your thighs to intensify in nature.

Your horny, dazed nature had returned.

“You’re thinking hard right now, aren’t you?” Felix prompted, a soft tinge prominent in his tone. His head inclined, and the roundness of his eyes bored immensely into you. Served as a signal that he had been watching you for some time.

You lolled your head back against the lounge chair behind you. Your gaze had prominently latched onto every singular droplet of water that rolled off of the muscles that rippled throughout Oliver’s silhouette.

Your next words escaped you bluntly. “I want us to fuck him.”

“Never knew you were interested in Oliver like that.”

“I have no damn clue what happened to him since Oxford but…”

You didn’t have to complete your sentence as you sucked in a sharp breath, finally tearing your eyes away from him completely to meet the darkness of Felix’s gaze.

“Whatever makes my princess happy.” Felix complied without missing a beat.

Felix was brisk to inch towards you, leaning over the slight bridge of a gap between the both of you. The lushness of his lips met the crevice of your neck, burying himself into you. Drowning him in the fragrance that practically dripped off of you. The soft motions of his lips intensified the roar of want dripping from your womanhood. You choked back a strangled gasp as the long frame of Felix’s fingers slipped underneath the scarce fabric of your bikini bottoms. Digits rolling to explore the gushing wetness that circulated between your folds.

“Ollie!” Felix's voice rang over his shoulder, blissfully ignorant to the fashion in which you buckled upwards for a hitch of friction.

In the hue of his loudness, Oliver’s head popped upwards from his current floating state. If you weren’t overwhelmed by the heat that sparked from each skim of Felix’s fingers, you’d let out a good-hearted chuckle at how wide-eyed Oliver looked at this moment.

“Yeah?”

“Come and help my girl out, would you?”

Oliver sauntered toward you with an indescribable emotion playing in his doe remanent eyes. His expression refused to falter, not even in the slightest as his gaze adverted toward the sight of Felix teasing your heat.

Virtually, you were on the edge of release as soon as you witnessed how Oliver dropped to his knees in front of you. Felix refused to remove his hand, even as Oliver shoved the fabric of your bikini bottoms aside to reveal your wetness.

You murmured a wordless prayer to whatever god reigned above as Oliver released a low whistle, the base of his tongue wetting his lips as he took in the altar you presented before him.

“We don’t have all day, Ollie.” Felix drawled onwards, the base of his forefinger continuing to prod the throbbing pearl lining your entrance.

Oliver obeyed, leaned forward, and licked a harsh swipe of saliva across your heat. Your back involuntarily arched at the sensation that followed, prompting the man before you to virtually submit himself to you. Head between your legs, just as you imagined the hours prior.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Felix murmured into the husk of your ear.

A barely incomprehensible response escaped the edge of your lips. The combination of Oliver working his mouth between your folds and Felix’s soothing motions across the nub of your clit resulted in hot, heavy sparks of pleasure building up at the base of your spine.

You buckled your hips upwards, practically on the verge of face-fucking Oliver. “Oh, my fucking…”

“[Y/N]...” Oliver murmured into your heat, the vibrations rooted from his mumbled words arrowed straight to your pooling core. The hand that wasn’t on the verge of tearing off your bikini bottoms completely clawed around the base of your thigh, drawing himself closer.

As if your body was a temple, and you were a goddess.

The length of your legs draped over the bareness of his back, the sensations of his muscles rippling with effort felt throughout your calves. The cool, wet skin of his shoulders pressed against you was a feeling beyond words.

Your orgasm began to trickle in with a singular stuffing of Oliver’s tongue. A cry rips itself from your throat, writhing with each pump.

“Ollie– Christ, right there baby…”

Saliva gradually begins to roll down the base of Oliver’s chin with effort, peering up at you with those fucking eyes as he continues to pound your wetness. With a few more ruts of his tongue, you came undone underneath his mouth. A strangled cry escapes you involuntarily, vision blurring momentarily as shockwaves grapple your entire being.

The force of your words escaped you in slight breaths. “Where the fuck did you learn how to do that, Ollie?”

“Well…” Oliver’s cheeks flushed before he continued to lick up every last drop of your release, stimulating your throbbing heat once again.

You slumped back into the frame of the lounge chair underneath you. Amid your post-peak haze, the choked noises of Felix’s heavy breathing cut through the air like a knife. You hadn’t even noticed he had removed his hand in the first place. Through the corner of your heavy-lidded eyes, you spied Felix, palming himself through his swimming trunks' thin, flimsy material.

“Fuck… Ollie, get to your feet.” Felix mustered in between strained words, managing to hold a reign of command over the young man planted before you.

The lounge chair squeaked beneath you with a strain of effort as you prop yourself up on the bridge of your elbows. A slight smirk gradually threatened the corner of your lips as you watched Felix stalk towards Oliver, step-by-step, inch-by-inch. All whilst teasing the waistband of his summer shorts.

Felix’s taller statue practically leered downward at the shorter male like a beast, a predator to his prey. The broadness of his body strained against the muscles lining Oliver’s back. The harsh ripple of Felix’s swimming trunks being discarded sounded throughout the otherwise quiet atmosphere, accompanied by the short whimper that reverberated from Oliver at the mere concept of Felix pressing himself against him.

The broadened surface of Felix’s fingers fiddled with the top of Oliver’s summer shorts. The commanding hues of his voice corresponded with the thin rustle of fabric. “Do you want to fuck my pretty baby right here, Ollie?”

The azure speckles that lined Oliver’s eyes virtually burned into you with the intensity of his stare. As you sprawled out upon the lounge chair right in his proximity, your bikini brief dangled loosely upon the rim of your ankles. Presenting yourself to him in the process.

Oliver managed to muster a nod. “I would be honored.” His voice sounded strained with arousal, no doubt.

With a lack of warning, Felix lowered Oliver’s trunks until his erection escaped without struggle. There wasn’t any question about how undeniably hard he was, especially when Felix pressed into him.

With a signature rip of foil, the male who stood over you began to attempt to line himself up with the slickness of your heat. A soft gasp, brimmed with desperation, reverberated from Oliver as Felix continued to tease his hole. Oliver wrung his palms around the arms of the lounge chair you possessed, making it easier for Felix to push into Oliver with a singular thrust and a line of saliva.

Oliver’s breaths picked up the pace as Felix began to work his heat further. His eyes grew a tad glossier at the immense discomfort brewing in his tight hole.

“Felix…”

“Don’t keep my princess waiting now.” Felix exaggerated the intensity of his words with a simple grinding motion of his hips against Oliver’s own.

Oliver’s breath had noticeably caught in the hollow of his throat. He obeyed though, wordlessly. Was it the harsh hues of Felix’s demanding words? Or the fashion in which Felix gradually thrusts in and out of Oliver’s heat, teasing his hole further. Encouragement. If you will.

Oliver’s girth buried itself into your willing cunt, inch by inch until his cock had disappeared fully into your body. Your lips parted absentmindedly at the remote concept of his size. Molten heat pooled throughout your abdomen at the sight of Oliver towering over you, puffing out a strained breath as Felix quickened his pace behind him.

Eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed, Oliver began shifting his hips. A smooth tempo of his thrusts stimulates your inner walls, resulting in a slight moan reverberating from you. Felix’s eyes notably shift into something else entirely at the sound, his girth rutting Oliver with a spark of intensity.

“Wasn’t that hard, was it, Ollie?” Felix drawled onwards, a hint of teasing prominent as he slammed himself deeper into Oliver’s heat. The hue of Oliver’s whimpers fell upon deaf ears as Felix continued to draw out his words. “So good for us.”

The double doses of pleasure resulted in the heated flush of Oliver’s cheeks creeping down his neck. The sensual pace of his lips grew deeper, a tad sloppier as Oliver’s back involuntarily arched in protest. “This… is– fuck, Felix…”

“You can do this, baby.” You purred amid tangent breaths, peering upward at Oliver with a pair of lust-drenched eyes. Capable of causing Oliver to peak right there, right then. “Mmm… I’ll help ya’ out.”

Oliver couldn’t have gotten a word in at all before you draped the length of your legs across his bare waist. His hips inclined closer to you in the process, your pelvis tilted upward to allow the flushed male to pound into areas you never thought were possible.

“Christ, [Y/N]... [Y/N].”

The dirty sound of your name on his lips like a prayer, accompanied by the hot, searing pleasure burning through you caused your release to threaten you. Building up along your spine. Threatened to unleash with every buckle of Oliver’s hips, searing into you.

“She’s good at this, ain’t she, Ollie?” Felix taunted light-heartedly, broadened palms clutching along the bone of Oliver’s hips. Grinding him backward into his cock, still jacking away into his hole.

The newfound sensation brought a strangled gasp to rip out of Oliver’s throat, eyes slammed closed momentarily. “So… fucking tight.”

A soft chuckle bore Felix, hips striking ass as the roll of his girth grew to a brutal pace. Soft grunts of delight escaped Oliver, but his poundings grew sloppier and sloppier – signaling how close he was.

The lack of attention upon your wetness made you groan absentmindedly. “Ollie, you… fucking prick.”

Heat convulsing with a need to peak, you drew Oliver further back into you via his hips. His girth struck a key sensitivity within you, once. Twice. Thrice. Until the tension that built up within you dissolved into mere pleasure, virtually seeing stars as Oliver’s name played upon your lips like a prayer to the Gods.

By the time you returned to reality, Oliver wrothe at his peak. His hips had jerked, spilling every drop of his release into the rubbery goodness rolled over his tip. Felix had followed shortly afterward, the toned nature of his silhouette glistening with newfound sweat. His pleasure-laced groans sliced the air as he proceeded to flood himself into Oliver. Felix reached upward, palm curled around the hollow of his throat and inclining his head backward as he rode out his orgasm.

“That’s it, Ollie. So good for me.”

In the midst of you catching your breath, you witnessed Oliver bathed in the light of Felix’s praise. Mouth agape. Azure eyes speckled with nothing but absolute pride. Eventually, Felix released Oliver, leaving a blooming red mark illustrating the crook of his neck in his wake. The silence drew on momentarily as the males managed to catch their breath.

“You never answered my question, Ollie.” You prompted after a few beats, leaned over to pull your bikini briefs over your hips once more. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

“[Y/N]...” Oliver started, yet failed to finish as his cheeks flushed with adoration.

“Slow down on the investigations, doll.” Felix chimed in, his once dominant exterior melted down into the playful guy we all had known to love. He clasped Oliver on the shoulder, so casually, that you wouldn’t have guessed he was inside him a few minutes prior. “I think our dear Ollie has had enough for one day.”

You gave a teasing roll of your eyes but didn't press onward. Instead, you extended your arms out in a singular grand motion. “C’mere then, both of you.”

As the two males tucked themself into the base of your shoulders, you realized that they would do everything for you.

And you would do anything for them.

WORD COUNT: 2K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

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akanemnon · 3 months ago

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hey akane is it ok if i ask for your help on this background’s color and composition? (this one’s just the thumbnail/concept hence why it’s messy)

Sure! I will try my best!

To accurately help with the composition I would need to know the intent behind the scene. From what it looks like you wanna put the focus on the chair? That is at least what sticks out to me first when looking at the thumbnail.

It's a bright yellow, which draws the attention of the eye. That is a good thing if that's what your going for.

The main I advice I can give you is to adjust the colors. Lemme show you something.

This is the greyscale of your thumbnail. Notice how the values are very similar and make the background details kinda blend together? Except for the trees. Thanks to the dark areas it's very easy differenciate them from the rest of the background.

What you probably want to do is try to create a sense of depth through the values. Establish a background that's further away (here shown with the fence and everything that lies beyond that) by making it a bit lighter and maybe a little desaturated. You know how when you look into the distance of a scenery and everything far away gets really light in color with a slight blue-ish hue? It's the same idea on a smaller scale.

Color can also help here! do you see how the off white of the umbrella is very close to the light yellow sky? What you can do to remedy that is by using a different shade of off white, for example or making it brighter! Or making the sky a different hue can also work, but if if the setting and mood for the scene calls for it, then stick to adjusting the white of the umbrella.

I fiddled around with it a bit to try and visualize it. Hope you don't mind. I apologize in case you do. It's definitely not perfect by any means, I did this in like a couple of minutes. But it should get the idea across... I hope.

Also in case you're working lineless as shown here, you can also play with shadows to help make those contrasts and values much stronger! That will also help with your composition and put focus where you want it to be.

That should be all I have? Yeah, I think so. Hope my pointers where at least somewhat coherent! Haha...

#ask akane #art talk #queued post

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minniebbang · 7 days ago

Text

Space between | L.Minho

Pairing: Evie!Minho x Mal!fem!reader summary: Your little escape to the isle quickly turned into a session where you were reminded why Minho was your best friend. Featuring the King of Auradon himself, King Bang. word counts: 2k words genre: descendant au, fluff a/n: This is my bad attempt at doing a crossover with my favourite show of all time

The faded rumbling of a motorcycle halted the male’s hand to draw the face on the wall and shifted his attention fully to the balcony, the gentle wind causing the patch-up curtain to blow. Throwing the spray onto the couch, he scurried to the opening, his eyes widening in surprise as the purple bike with blackthorn graffiti on its body came into view.

No way she was here.

His assumption was proven right when he heard someone’s long sighing and the old sofa squeaking under somebody's weight. He turned his heels around, fingers already rubbing his temple in annoyance.

“Are you running away from your responsibility again, princess?” He scolded, approaching you who had ended up on the brown leather sofa, legs resting against the armrest as you raised your gaze to meet Minho’s. He had tilted his head, looking down at you as if you were a problematic child – oh, how it reminded you of your mother.

“You don’t understand, Minho! I never meant to be a princess anyway!” You threw your hand above your head, frustration and exhaustion obvious in your voice.

Sure, you were getting the hang of it, balancing your life as the queen and a student in Auradon, but it was never easy. Ever since the wedding, the media have never let you breathe in peace, always shoving their almighty mics and blinding cameras in your face.

If it wasn’t for the fairy godmother, you didn’t think you would survive a day in Auradon Prep.

“Yet, you’re married to Chan. King Chan, if I need to remind you.” He rolled his eyes dramatically, his black orbs disappearing behind his lids momentarily.

He picked up your bag by the straps and threw it toward your head. Fortunately, you caught it just before it kissed your face. Minho walked away, grabbed his abandoned can of spray paint and gave it a little shake before adding new strokes to his drawing.

You pushed yourself up and propped your head onto your fist, watching the random black strokes begin to take the shape of you, Minho, Changbin, and Yuna hugging each other. For a moment, the clacking of the spraying paint filled up the comforting air. Your eyes wandered around the place, taking in every painting that the others had painted on the walls.

Some random scenery that Yuna thought was pretty was somewhere behind you, the ‘long live evil’ phrase was drawn on every corner of the area, and each of their faces that you drew was staring back at you.

How long had it been since you held a spray paint? How long had it been since you last wrecked the isle? Leaving your trails on somebody’s home and clothes was once your norm. But now, it was nothing but a vivid memory that you could only recount in your mind.

A tender smile spread on your lips, the comfort of the hideout taking a toll on you. This place was once an abandoned shop with webs and spiders peeking out in every corner. Changbin was the one who proposed the idea to turn the place into a hideout – by now, it was your safe place from your parents and the stress from Auradon.

“Where are Yuna and Changbin? I heard from Yeji that they went to the Isle this morning.” You broke the silence and threw him a new can of spray paint from your bag, noticing how he aggressively shook the can in an attempt to add the final detail of the graffiti. He mumbled a soft thank you.

“Felix wants to dye his hair, so Yuna brings him to Jeongin. Changbin…I’m pretty sure he is getting his nails done by Jeongin, too. That little kid is going to be super busy today, great for him.” A chuckle bubbled out from him while the younger complaint rang in his ear. There was a subtle tenderness in his voice – the one he only reserved for the younger.

He placed the item away and turned to you. Your eyes were bored into the square TV across from you – clearly, you weren’t here mentally.

“What are you doing? Reminiscing?” There was a slight teasing in his voice

“No…wondering how all of this happens. Weren’t we supposed to take over Auradon? How did we find comfort in a place we were taught to loathe? And mostly, how did I fall in love with him and suddenly I’m the queen of Auradon? None of that makes sense, Minho…” Your voice dropped into a whisper.

His features softened as he cooed and took a seat beside you. His arm wrapped around your shoulder and pulled your body closer to him. The warmth from his body engulfed you like a blanket – comforting and protecting you from any voices in your head.

“Sometimes, you don’t need to know why certain things in life happen. Accept it and move on. I know changes are hard, but I’m by your side. Whatever happens, I’m here. My arms are open for you, Y/N.”

He gently rubbed your shoulder, and as if it was second nature, your head found its home on his shoulder.

“Thank you, that means a lot.” Your surroundings suddenly muted when you're in his arms, his calm breathing was the only sound you could hear. Your gaze flickered toward him, and your lips twitched into a small smile when you saw a soft smile resting on his features.

But the way his eyes glimmered in mischief made your stomach flip in the most uncomfortable way possible.

“But I need to admit it is your fault that he falls in love with you. You cast the love spell on him.”

You groaned and immediately shoved a pillow toward him, a fit of laughter escaped him as he tried to avoid your attack. You knew it – he never let sentimental moments last for a minute.

“Shut up, we were desperate! That spell came across my mind at that time. Don't put all the blame on me!” You threw the pillow at him again.

“Did you enjoy it when he proposed to you in the field? I still remember the song he sang to you.”

“Lee Minho, please. AND for the record, he didn’t!”

He hummed a familiar tune, causing your cheeks to burn from the memory of the day. You never expected the spell to work that well.

Neither did you ever expect him to kiss you in front of everyone, nor his supposed fiancée at that time.

You still remember how stunned Minho was that day, mouth agape and squealing like a teenage girl beside you whenever Chan got too close to you.

You pressed the pillow to his face, in a vain attempt to seal his pretty mouth shut.

“I swear I’ll burn your bakery, Minho.”

“Hey! Not my bakery! I work hard on that place!” He shouted, shocking you at how high his note was.

“At least, I didn’t hesitate to kiss someone I like, unlike you.” You puckered your tongue out. Now, it was his turn to tackle you to the floor with the pillows.

“That is exceptional! I could never kiss her without her consent.” His lips tightened to a thin line, cheeks slowly coloured the same hue as yours.

“Whatever you say, you lovesick fool.” You chuckled as you held the pillow between both of you. He scrunched his nose in a dissatisfied manner – He’s cute, no wonder she could fall in love with him.

His cell ran, and he quickly detached himself from you to fetch the cell. Upon realising the caller, a smirk played on his lips. Confusion washed over you as you watched him taking the call. You stood up, dusted your shirt and placed the pillow back in its mismatched family.

Well, that happened when you stole pillows from someone in the neighbourhood.

“Oh, she is on the isle! You’re on the way? Great! See you later!” He chirped to the other line before glancing at you. His hand was already returning the phone to the table.

You threw your head back, scolding Minho “That is Chan, isn’t it? I don’t want to return to the castle just yet!”

“Too late, he is going to be here in 3,2

1.”

A loud ring echoed in the small area, and you swore Minho’s smirk widened.

“He’s here!” He bounced to the kitchen and pressed the big red button on the wall. The sound of the rusty gates rustling against each other filled your ear and before you could scowl at Minho, a big pair of arms had pulled you into a hug.

“Y/N? Why didn’t you tell me you went to the Isle? I miss you.” Chan immediately scooped you into his arms, and you won’t lie that you like being in his arms. It felt right, it felt home – the smell of fresh flowers you had recognised over the months lingered, enveloping you in his love.

You turned around a bit, just enough to see that smile you came to like on display.

“Hey. What are you doing here?” You asked, your voice coming out breathless, unintendedly.

Minho crossed his arms over his chest, his heart fluttered at the sight in front of him. A glance at Chan, he knew you were in good hands. He knew that the King would take care of you properly and love you — something that Maleficent or Hades struggled with for years.

Auradon was truly a land of possibilities.

“Picking up the other kids for the program. Thank you, Minho. I’ll treat you later.” Chan uttered, letting you go and swiftly lacing your fingers with his. Your heart jumped when he suddenly pecked your temple.

“Oh, and Yeji is looking for you in the bakery. You want to go back with us?” Chan continued while gazing back at Minho, while you, on the other hand, touched your forehead. Your heart was racing out of beat.

This was one of the things you couldn't get used to. It was odd to feel overwhelmed by someone’s love…

“It's okay, I’ll go back with Yuna and Changbin later.”

“Alright, see you later!” Chan bidded him a goodbye and before you stepped out of the place, you stole a glance at Minho and mouthed ‘I love you’.

He mouthed back the same sentence and waved his hand. When you completely disappeared from his sight, he moved to the kitchen and came out with a small purple box and a container. The lid of the box was punctured to allow air to enter — or else the lizard (or your mother) would meet death sooner than he expected.

“Let's go, Maleficent, we’re going back home. Mom has been begging me to bring this cake to the isle.” He muttered to the lizard. The creature hissed as if it were replying.

You walked a few steps behind Chan as you headed to the car. Realising that, he quickly turned around and went to you, hands already reaching to hold yours.

“Is everything okay, Y/N?” His voice was unmistakably soft and you couldn't meet his eyes for the first time. You stayed quiet for a while, silently gathering courage to ask him.

“How could you love me when you know I put a love spell on you?” You gripped his hand as the doubt crept in, its fangs sinking deeper into your skin and it didn’t want to let go of you.

You had been thinking that lately…that was why you were on the Isle. It was one of the reasons, at least.

To get some fresh air.

To get an answer.

But in the end, you were tied to a single conclusion.

You needed to ask him.

“Are you doubting my love for you?”

“No, no! That's not it!” You panic and immediately raise your head. Your gaze collided with his and you forgot to breathe properly. He was looking at you as if you were the only thing that mattered in this world, a light amidst the crowd of people.

A hope in a swamp of darkness.

“Y/N, you are the answer to my every question. You teach me that sometimes it's okay to be imperfect, it's okay to be someone other than a King. You didn't expect me to be perfect like everyone else. You accept me as a human, as Chan Bang. Not King Chan. And that's enough to make me fall for you. Over and over again.”

He uttered, his attention solely on you the entire time. You felt your eyes sting from the tears that threatened to come out. Unconsciously, a few stifles slipped out of your mouth. The dam broke, letting a few hot tears slide down your cheeks — it was embarrassing, really, but you didn't mind at all.

Chan’s eyes comically went wide as he pulled you into his chest. He caressed your hair gently, murmuring comforting words to you. Kissing your head, he rocks you side to side. And you laughed, finding his whole behaviour funny as if he were calming a crying baby.

“I love you, Chan.” You whispered as though it were a secret when you pulled away slightly to peek at him.

“I love you, more than words can describe, Y/N.”

#stray kids #skz imagines #skz #lee know x reader #lee know au #lee know imagines #skz fanfic #descendat x skz au #bang chan x reader

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