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eveningepiphany · 2 months
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sometimes you just have to go crazy crazy crazy til u see the sun
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eveningepiphany · 2 months
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Hey no pressure but when are you gonna post the next part of pirates gold?
after the longest wait of everyone’s life, part three is finally finally here. I love you all so much. thank you for giving me a platform and community who are so loving and supportive.
you can read pirates gold HERE 🤍
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eveningepiphany · 2 months
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pirates gold | H.S series, part three
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[series masterlist]
summary: finally, a break from the ship is in sight. you and harry end up in a very pirate-y bar, but even a good night can’t last forever. and seemingly, neither can uncomplicated feelings.
warnings: mentions of kidnapping, teasing, sexual mentions, tension, pining, protective h, y/n being an absolute menace, mentions of death and disappearance, alcohol, violent themes.
a/n: this is really humbling to post after so long. I hope you all enjoy it, I’m so sorry for the wait.
———
You don’t realise how easy it is to forget sometimes.
How fast an old life can fall out of view, and shed off you like an old skin. How on occasion, it happens so quickly you don’t even register it’s occurred.
The shortest periods of time can alter how you view your life. You didn’t realise how different being on a ship was when compared to living on land— not until you bridged between the two while conscious, and felt the transition with your own body.
Your feet had came to the ground more unsteady than you’d thought. Maybe you forgot how to walk too. As dark had already consumed the town, you’re not sure if you were shaking out of anxiety or genuinely from how long it’s felt like it’s been since you’ve stood on solid unwavering ground.
Harry, whose hand occupied the flat of your back, felt the intake of breath your lungs pulled in as you finally made it all the way onto the dock.
He had come back into his room to find you asleep, curled into his side of the bed, knees tucked into your chest. To it, he’d smiled… legs carrying him over to glance over your peaceful frame closer.
Examining the rise and fall of your chest, as air passed through your nose softly. He noted that your hair looked damp, and he almost chuckled at the fact you’d seemingly helped yourself to a shower.
He gently said your name, “Y/N…”
When you didn’t stir, he muttered it again, hand coming to jostle your shoulder slightly. The touch woke you up, your legs uncoiling from their tucked up position, stretching out down the mattress.
A tiny sound whimpered from your throat as you started to fully wake up, eyes flitting open with a sleep-induced glaze over them.
“Evenin’.” He remarked, “fancied a shower and a nap, aye?” When you took in his frame standing next to the bed, he had an armful of brown paper bags.
You sighed out, sitting up, “Not much else to really do.”
However your brain was rerunning the fact you had plenty you could’ve done since you found that key in one of his pockets. Mentally, you had to shove it away so you didn’t end up with a guilty look plastered on your face.
“Well, waits over, dove. Got ya some clothes, you’re welcome to pick something out before we go. Want you t’blend in.” He placed the bags down onto the bed for you to shuffle over to.
You felt oddly curious, like a child on Christmas. All these bags filled with things for you. The abundance of clothes you pulled out shocked you, because there really was half a wardrobe in there. Including a pair of boots, ones you’re not sure how he figured out would fit your feet.
There was also white linen blouses similar to his own— others black lace with intricate detailing, and brown fitted long sleeves— and also an array of pants, all slightly differing in styles. You stumbled across a black under-bust corset, and your eyes shifted to him. He was leaning against the wall watching you, a smirk over his lips. That wasn’t even the only corset he had bought, there were 2 others.
However, the satisfied look on his face only grew as you reached the bottom of the last bag. Several undergarments lay folded, bras and underwear.
“Had to do some guessing with the sizing of those…” His voice comes from a few feet away from you. All too close given the fact you’re staring at intimates he bought for you.
Your face was flaming red, unable to contain the embarrassment that was coursing through you, purely at the fact he was shopping for your underwear and bras— probably imagining you in them. Someone acting so casual about this was throwing you into disarray.
His passing comments and dirty teases were one thing, this however, was another.
“Everyday you get a little more pervy.” You bite out, and he laughs at your defensive tone.
“Did you suggest I leave you without any? A thank you will suffice perfectly fine. No need t’insult me when im jus’ looking after you.” A smug smile fell over his features.
“Harry.” You groan, voice warning him, and he let it go after rolling his eyes.
He allowed you to pick out what you wanted, watching you flush as you discreetly pulled a set of undergarments out of the bag.
You had picked a white linen shirt, matching his own, and a black pair of pants. He let you change into them in his bathroom, but when you’d come out adorned in clothes that perfectly fit the pirate energy, he was holding what he’d deemed as the final touch.
The black under-bust corset.
“C’mere. You’ll be fine.” He says at your immediately displeased face.
“You might not be.” You sneer, frowning at him as the loosened corset hangs in his hands— leather shining with the golden reflection of the candle light around the room.
He walks over to you, since you clearly weren’t going to be the one to do it, and a tut comes from his pink lips, “Always so stubborn.”
You decide to just let him— since partial freedom is in sight— and you stepped into the corset, allowing him to slide it up your body, until it was in place underneath your breasts.
“This fine?” He checks in as he tugs the strings, waiting for your confirmation before the leather was too tight to your waist.
“I still think I should just elbow you.” You glare, hands clenched at the sides of your thighs with the looming pressure of the garment.
His attempt to be courteous was to no avail, clearly. And the white linen gets sinched inward, and he wrenches the strings roughly with purpose.
His deep laugh sounds, and with that firm pull you’re bought close enough to him you can feel his warm breath against your ear as he leans down.
“Let’s not be mouthy, dove. Not when I’m in control of how tight this thing is on you.” He tugs the laces a final time, hard enough the material feels like it’s completely restricting your diaphragm— making you hold your breath for a moment.
At your silence, he lets his hand relax, in turn the strings loosening enough for you to intake a breath. Your soft gasp makes his stomach heat up, warm with an unexplainable feeling.
He ties the corset at the back, and you don’t even get to step away before he’s linking arms with you.
“You look good." He states with a nod, and your eye's veered downward to see the corset against yourself.
That was what lead you to here, stepping off the pier, lit only by the latern Harry was carrying, and onto dirt.
Dirt that may have been separated from your feet with a pair of shoes, but was amazing to feel press against your boots again.
You were so eager to touch something other than wood, that this was like heaven.
The sea lapped up against the shore a few metres away, as the earth transitioned back into sand on the shore. You felt deep anticipation to get further away from the uniting of the two worlds. Because away from anything regarding the ocean and the vessel that floated upon was freedom in your mind.
Harry could see every micro-expression on your face, despite the weak candlelight. The way your eyes had lit up at the sensation of soft dirt below you, and it was endearing. He’d never seen one get so excited over merely dirt.
The air was warm, and felt like a summer night— but the breeze that blew through your hair was crisp. Whispering hints of a change in weather sooner rather than later.
He watched the wind twirl your hair, and he was almost envious of it. Watching its fingers comb through it, in such a way he could only imagine himself in its place with an intense longingly.
“The boys are at the bar. But if that’s not your scene, what we do is up to you.” He supplies, watching your eyes slant to him.
You hadn’t really thought this far ahead, what you’d do once you were off the boat. You looked at him, and then back to the cobble path that lead presumably into the heart of Sintir.
The buildings were lit up, warm light glowing, “Do they have a night market?”
“Mhm, infact they do.” He nods, beginning a slow walk to encourage you onwards.
Oddly enough, as his body was pressed to your side, you felt safe. He was something familiar in this new environment. “How exactly are you going to hide me?”
The pressing question to you was merely a slight concern to him.
“Chances of them knowing that you’re the missing princess is unlikely. And if they have seen the posters with your face on it, I somehow struggle to believe they’ll connect the dots.”
“That’s a lot of faith you have in that.” You comment, boots hitting the cobblestone with the same clacks they did back at home. There was a sense of invigoration that rushed through the blood beneath your skin at the sound.
It bought back your nightly adventures around Kelna, where nothing mattered. And all you had to worry about is what time you were sneaking back through your window without getting caught by your own guards.
It was nostalgic in a weird way. The kind that threw your mind spinning, since the memory was so fresh yet so distant. Too much had changed in the time from then to now.
“‘Cause y’don’t really look anythin’ like your picture.” He comments, dragging his gaze along your frame again, playing a mental spot the difference. He’d seen the flyers earlier that day, and was honestly unconvinced it was really you himself.
“God— tell me they didn’t use an ugly picture of me from 2 years ago…” It’s the kind of thing your parents would do, but Harry only shakes his head, letting out a prompt cackle at your distress.
“No, they didn’t use an ugly photo of ya at all. You’re just s’put together in it, hair slicked back in this fancy satin dress and pearls.” The two of you are walking between the first two buildings facing the sea, luminaries lighting up the path.
He continues, waving his hand as though it adds something to the conversation, “Now, y’hair is down now, all wild. And you’ve got this untamed look in y’eye. No one would look at ya an’ see y’fine dining in a gown.”
You’re not sure what to make of all of this, since he’s talking of you like he’s certain. Coming from his own perspective more than anyone else’s.
“They see a pirates girl. Probably look at you and think y’wrapped around my finger.” He nudges, and you finally scoff, “I would prefer they see it the other way around. That you’re following me like a lost puppy.”
“That’s never usually how it is, though.” He raises his brows, and your arm slips out of his, walking backward as you face him.
“But maybe it could be in their mind. They see you foaming out the mouth for me. And it’s like that ship docked over there,” your point in the direction you’d both originally came from, “is all mine.”
The concept feels like a power trip. You do wonder how many female captains there are in this world. Likely not enough.
“Sounds like quite the fantasy y’ve built up.” He muses.
“I want to go to the pub.” Your tone is certain and confident. To this he raises his eyes brows in challenge.
“Perhaps you’ll share a drink with me, dove?”
“Or it could be the other way around.”
“Well, it couldn’t, because you don’t have any gold to pay with. An’ things here aren’t complimentary like they are at home.” He huffs in amusement, poking fun at your previously lavish lifestyle.
“I don’t need gold,” you begin with a smirk that’s starting to spread across your mouth, “all I need to do is undo a few buttons on this blouse and I’ll probably be able to get a round for the whole crew on the house.”
You’re walking backwards, hands clasped together behind your back, a grin on your face that makes him feel insane.
His eyes immediately darkened, pupils blowing out at the thought of what you’re insinuating. Flirting your way for a free drink… something he can’t imagine you’ve ever done before. Yet would probably succeed at like you have a million times over.
“Right,” He clears his throat, trying to calm himself down, “didn’t take much for you to start whoring yourself out for some booze.”
“It’s not whoring… men are horrible creatures. They’ll do anything if they think it’ll get their dick wet.” He thinks you’re so… uneducated and naive. That just because you’re in a court, that you know nothing of the males on this earth.
However it’s quite the opposite. Sexual topics are strictly forbidden in the palace and court meetings… but elsewhere, when it’s private and no one is around to hear it, men help themselves to the topic.
They have no concern discreetly passing by you, head turned in whisper, just to tell you what a body you have. Or just how badly they want to…
And on the street, it’s even worse. So you know more than enough when it comes to that. That makes you anything but stupid to a man’s intentions.
He picks up the pace of his steps to breach the distance between you both, so that if you were to stop walking suddenly— he would probably crash into he was that close.
“You’re not doing that.” He says, tone serious.
“Why not, afraid you’ll get a little jealous?” You’re flirting with something dangerous now. Eager to prove a point.
“Don’t try to get a rise out of me. Because I said you’re not. Do y’want a drink or not dove? Because the way you’re headed, all your getting is a glass of water.”
“Whatever.” You scoff, still unsatisfied, but resigning your argument for now.
“I’m concerned your attitude will only worsen with alcohol in your system.” He deliberates.
The streets have now fully lit up, with other people starting to appear, and the nightlife is able to be heard from where you are.
The singing happening in the tavern can now be heard as you round a corner into what can only be deemed at Sintirs town centre.
A night market is clearly running, and you can see the pub a few doors down from it. Men and women out the front, drinks in hand and cigars hanging from their lips.
He catches up to you enough to slide his arm between your elbow again, silently obliging you you to stay right by his side.
As you get closer to the tavern, he verbalises this.
“You don’t move from here,” He pulls you tighter into his frame, “and you don’t make any trouble. Otherwise it won’t be pretty.”
His tone is firm, unwavering. You nod to it, accepting the rules begrudgingly, “Yes, Captain.”
You both come to the door, and he pulls it open. The building on the outside was rustic bricks, and inside it was the same— except the flooring was wooden. As the door opened, a bell chimed, but it was drowned out by the overwhelming amount of noise.
Men were shouting, and bellowing all about. Drunkenly chatting, playing darts, and stumbling around. There were women too, but they were not near as rambunctious. All of them were dressed like pirates… and it was clear this place was specialised for them. Maps on the wall, and news clippings of what appeared to be local Sintir pirates were framed around the place.
A few blokes stopped to greet Harry. And he engaged in short conversations. But in the back of his mind, he was regretting bringing you in here. Not because anyone recognised you, but because he could see every single slimy gaze that dragged over you.
One man stopped him by the darts—Harry had called him Evan— he said greetings to the captain, but his gaze never left you.
You had noticed immediately, and it was a bit disgusting. It made you regret calling Harry a perv. Because he was nothing like this.
It immediately pissed Harry off, the way the brutish and large man was eyeing you up and down like you were an object. And his blood spiked when he considered the array of things likely running through Evans head.
The grip he had tightened on you.
It’s protective, you feel. And at the least, you know you’re safe with him.
Harry almost regretted putting that corset on you now. It made you look too good. Too enticing.
He, unlike others clearly, has a moral compass. And enough human decency to see you as a human opposed to a sexual object. He was forgetful that most men lacked that ability.
When he spots his crew, he uses it as a quickly conjured excuse to get away from the other pirate. And as he leaves, he tugs your body in front of him, shadowing your retreating figure from prying eyes.
You’re a bit overwhelmed, in all honesty. But accept it as normal— you hadn’t been anywhere so busy for a while now. Especially when it’s in such a rowdy way.
The second his crew spots the two of you— your body sheltered by his own, and his hand on your hip urging you forward— Niall, the blonde one whose name you finally remember, lets out a bellowing cheer.
“She made it!” He’s excited like you’re an old friend of his, and he drunkenly rises up from the booth the boys had taken.
Harry feels a little more at peace knowing he’s now with his crew— the two of you are less likely to be bothered now, and he knows his mates will look out for you as well. Prisoner or not, you’re still a human.
Niall barrels towards you, and Harry renounces his hold on you. Chuckling as he pulls you into a drunk bear hug.
You’re unsure what to do with your hands as he rocks you around like a child, “Glad ya here, lovie.”
“Mmhm…?” You agree, looking helplessly his crew mates as they cackle hysterically— smacking their hands down on the table and sloshing their pints of beer in fits of laughter.
He eventually slides his arms off you, and hiccups, “are ya havin’ a drink?”
His already heavy accent is slurred as you make out what he’s asking, and you don’t even get an answer in before he reaches over the table and grabs you his.
Sliding the cold glass, around 3 quarters empty, into your hand.
“‘Ave mine! I’ll go get anotha’” He chortles, and then stumbles off just like that.
Harry watches in surprise as you bring the glass up to your lips and down the rest of it without hesitation. Hoping alcohol will take the edge off all the overstimulation you’re having in here. Calm you down a bit.
The rest of his crew whoop and cheer for you, which at the least gives you a bit more confidence.
Before they can all hand you over their half finished beers, Harry comes back to your side, head craning down to talk in your ear.
“Let’s go up t’the bar, get ya somethin’ fresh, instead of people leftovers.”
You nod, walking with him as he pulls you through the crowd.
At the bar, there’s several people sat at the stools. Including a touchy couple, that are practically feeling each other up, front and centre. She is sitting on the seat, but is taller than the man that’s between her legs. Clearly she’s in charge, and you smirk.
Go girl, you thought, and Harry clocks your pride for the woman. Something stirring in his chest.
He ignores it, going up the bar to place on order.
The lady at the bar, whose got muscles on her like an absolute god, nods at him to rattle off his order.
“Two beers and a shot of the best liquor y’ve got, thanks, Naomi.” He asks, but you interrupt before she can walk away.
“Make it two shots, please.” To your quick mouth, she smiles. She has dark skin, and a beautifully done head of braids, it’s clear you’ve piqued her curiosity.
“I’ll make it two,” she smirks, getting two shot glasses from beneath the counter.
“And who is the second one for?” She asks, implying she wants your name.
You slide your eyes to Harry, who is shocked that you’re trying to get his permission for giving your name. He blinks sharply in disapproval.
“Mary.” You nod, listing the fake name off like it was nothing. It was a common enough name, so she takes it.
You don’t realise how effortlessly you and Harry are communicating without words until he ghosts his thumb over your forearm, and you know he’s thanking you.
Naomi smirks at you, “Well, miss Mary, I have to say i quite admire you.”
You give her a thanks, and she slides the two shots on the counter, going on to prepare the beers.
“Been a while since your captain here has bought a girl around… nice to see.” The irony of the situation could almost make you laugh.
“Well, someone’s oughta keep him inline. Otherwise he’d end up prisoner somewhere.” You supply, putting up your best pirate imitation for her.
He shakes his head, your play on words half amusing, half unbelievable.
“Was good to see you, Naomi, thanks for the drinks.” He says, grabbing the beer while you grab the shots.
She gives her momentary goodbyes, and he walks over to a vacant barrel to place the beer down.
You follow suit, but with only one of the shots. You toss the other back before he can say otherwise. The brownish-gold liquid burning a trail down your throat.
He watches in disbelief. You are so shockingly rough around the edges, that the idea of you being a princess feels unfathomable to him.
“You broke a lot of those royal rules, didn’t you.” He raises his brows, voice unreadable.
Licking over your lips, the strong alcohol gives a zip up your spine, “on occasion.”
“Christ.” He mutters, picking up his own shot and downing it.
The two of you take your beers back to the booth his crew was at, and you drink that and whatever else got handed to you by his crew mates— that you’ve officially learned most names of— and are well and truly a bit drunk.
You were sat between Liam and Harry, and the night was actually quite fun.
It was nice to truly forget the situation you’d landed yourself in.
That was until, as the night drew on, and once the early hours of the morning were likely in play, the pub quietened.
It was now regular noise level, just drunk and tired chatter, and someone came over to your booth.
A lanky guy, sporting long dreaded hair with olive coloured skin. Despite his moderately tan complexion, there was an almost queasy undertone to it. It stained a faint yellow tinge under his eyes, and screamed future liver failure the longer you stared.
Yet a gold tooth that peaked through when he flashed a smile. He looked like the epitome of a pirate.
“Ah, Styles and his crew are back in town.” He announces rather loudly, like as if he has an audience he’s talking to.
“Leon… Hello.” Zayn drawls, far from enthralled to see the man.
“Great to see you all,” he claps his hands together, smiling, “now, I’ve jus’ come round to spread the word…”
It piques the men’s interest slightly, and they all start to pay attention to the skinny bloke.
“Garrets boat was found the otha’ day.” He states, looking between the boys, eyes stopping momentarily on you.
Harry pipes up from where he’s sat next to you, and if there was anything amiss, the only telling thing would be the way his hand snakes to your knee, tensing around it slightly.
It’s his bruised hand, and you try to draw your attention away from it.
“I’ve heard word of that… did he not turn up with it?” Harry asks, nonchalantly.
“No… it was in perfect nick, jus’ without its capan’.” He sighs out, stepping forward to trail his boney hand over the wood pattern on the table, “Reckon someone’s got him… so keep an eye out for raiders.”
“Mm, alright. Thanks for the heads up. Hope ya’s stumble upon him…” Harry nods, hand clutching your knee harder.
The man’s missing…
And suddenly, it clicks in your brain.
Despite his crews unreadable faces, you are almost certain that the man currently in the chambers of their ship is the same person Leon is on about.
It sends a wave of anxiety through you. In a room full of pirates, you are something they all would want. Yet for varying reasons.
You’re suddenly grateful again that Harry and his crew seem to only have the intention of money with you.
What a horrible thing to be thankful for in this world, you think.
That you’re happy the people who kidnapped you don’t want to use you in worse ways. Don’t want your body or to keep you as a souvenir.
You’re drawn from your spiralling thoughts as Leon speaks again,
“Ah, and you have a las with you too…” he remarks, although it adds no substance to the conversation.
“Mary.” Harry provides, and the boys all exchange a glance.
“You keep your eye out too then, sweetheart. You women have an attention to detail that us men don’t...” He flashes his golden tooth, and gives a final nod to the crew before turning away.
You purse your lips, glancing down at your lap, trying to hide your frown. Confused if the approach was a convoluted kind of threat, or just an odd exchange.
“That’s us done for the night,” Harry says, his previous relaxed tone was gone. It was riddled with seriousness now.
“Give it ten so it doesn’t look suspicious, and then we’re leaving.”
That was confirmation to you that Garret is the man below deck… and you were itching to ask questions, but knew now was likely not the time.
The tension aided sobering everyone up, and after around ten minutes they all collectively rose. And Harry scooted out of the booth, and gestured you to follow suit.
You slide out, leather gliding against your skin as you got to the edge and took his hand without protest. Despite being upset at this situation only minutes earlier, you craved to feel safe.
So as anxiety was welling in your chest, you easily allowed him to pull you against him. Tan hand clasped around yours as he held you firmly close.
This time, he held you with his good hand, free of dark purple bruises.
You transfixed on his complexion instead now. It was completely different to Leon’s. Tan from the sun, yes. But Harry was— as always— all beauty. Liquid gold was accidentally spilt into the colour of his skin. It shone under even the dingest of bar lightings, and never failed to completely encapsulate your attention. His skin had no sickly undertone.
Tiny freckles and beauty marks that trailed up his forearm. They were colour of chocolate… and he was perfection.
Christ.
You got pulled out of your trance by the tug of his hand, his bruised one busy fishing out a small bag of gold.
It’s unbelievable the state he can put you in. It’s otherworldly, and you feel sort of ashamed how easily your mentality can fold to him.
Taking you up to the counter that Naomi was scrubbing down with a rag, he placed the small coin bag atop the bar.
“Thanks for your hospitality as usually, there’s a little extra for all your help.” He was keeping the exchange short, bidding his farewells after her gracious appreciation.
She smiles a goodbye to him, yet eyes slide back over to you,
“And you too Mary, keep y’man in-line.” She teased, and Harry genuinely rolled his eyes.
“I will.” You stated, voice oversaturated with faux confidence.
With that, you all left the tavern. It felt odd stepping into the now cold air, a change coming in quicker than expected. The market having packed up for the night likely hours ago.
Goosebumps erupted over your skin as the boys moved in haste, a unity of clanking boots against the paving.
“Y’shivering.” Harry remarked.
“It’s colder than it was earlier.”
“Even the tropics must feel the cold.” Tanner states matter-of-factly.
Once out of the town centre, they start running— it was sudden and unexpected. Like once they were fully out of view, urgency could be expressed.
“This’ll warm you up.” Harry raises his voice against the wind, pulling you along to match his pace.
By the time you made it back, storming across the pier, you were near breathless.
Blood pumping, and you did feel a little warmer at the least.
“Alrigh’, Liam, are you right enough to get us going?” He asked, patting his back as the boys walk along the temporary bridging from the pier to the ship.
“Plenty fine, H.” He nods certainly.
“That’s the way…” his voice raises, “Ashton, Miggs, batten down the hatches!”
His pirate-y tone was prevalent as he threw orders left right and centre. Before you knew it, the ship was starting to move from port. You were shocked, considering half of them weren’t even fully sober. But you supposed this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, readying up the ship for something unexpected while half drunk.
Maybe things were done better that way, with beer in the blood, you supposed. More officiant.
Once he was finished confirming what everyone was doing, his voice lowered, and gaze softened as he turned to you.
His eyes fell where you rung the bottom of the corset cinched around you. You were evidently anxious, it was written all over your face.
“Cmon, dove…” he walked the minor distance between you, “I’ll take you back below deck.”
“To the chambers?“ your voice was abundant with sudden fear, and the thought of going down there knowing there’s likely a corpse in the room across from you made you feel sick.
“No.” He immediately clarified, “My room. You’re not going back down there, Y/N.”
He said it with such certainty, and you wondered what changed to make you a permanent fixture in his room.
You were lead down the increasingly familiar way to his bedroom, “Nothing you can task me with?”
He laughed at your question, “Nothing, love. I doubt you even know how to tie a knot on a rope.”
You couldn’t say you properly did. And then you wondered why exactly you offered to help, considering you have no business aiding people who kidnapped you.
“I don’t.” You sigh, as he lets you into his dark room. He felt oddly domestic, stepping through the doors quickly to light a wall lantern so you can see.
“Then you’re better off safe in here, the waters already a bit rocky.” The ship was rising and falling more dramatically than this morning, which added to your list of things to worry about.
“Harry,” you say his name before he can walk out.
“Y/N?”
“Can you be honest with me…?”
He huffs a laugh, “Tha’ depends.”
“Is the man in the cells dead?”
The seriousness in your tone has him dead quiet. And you can hear the ticking in his brain as he decides on whether he’s answering you or not.
The innocent look in your eye pushed him to be truthful. He wasn’t used to this. Seeing someone undeserving of being captive on the ship. It was always horrible people.
“I’ll go a step ahead of you, yes, Garret’s dead.” He answered like he knew your next question would be that. And he was right, because it was.
You draw in a breath, the only sound heard is the crashing of the ship against the waves.
“Does that scare you?” He asks, and then asks deeper, “Do I scare you?”
You pause to then think how to answer that.
“Yes and no…” You deliberate, because you truly don’t know. You felt safe with him today, but the concept of what he’s probably done to people is eye opening to say the least. And always the potential of what he could do to you.
The air was thick— the alcohol in both of your systems clouding your judgements— and something churned in your hearts. There was a shared breath in, and out.
You feel the cruciality of the moment, and are certain he can too.
Right now, this goes much further than the taking of a royal, the trapping of a person. It’s a question that the answer can only create more confusion.
Because why on this cruel, twisted earth would you be thinking of any response other than a plain, hard, yes.
A breath catches in the back of your throat, and the real answer slips out with a rasp.
“You scare me because I don’t know how to fully hate you. I hate you, but not like i should.”
A half blink, and the look in his eyes switches. It’s unreadable for a moment, blank in processing.
He steps closer, feeling an urge to touch you that he can’t explain where it come from. It’s so forceful he breaches the distance between you faster than he can rethink it. Fingers reaching out to brush a gentle stroke over your cheekbone.
Your lips part, the haze in your mind making you wonder if this was a dream of sorts.
All Harry is thinking about is the fact he wants more right now. The same whirlwind that pushed him to cradle your cheek with his hand is begging his lips to brush against yours.
He pushes it down into the pit of his stomach, replying with a tone so tender he wonders how it come from himself.
“I won’t hurt you. I promise on the damning of my own soul.” He reassures.
The lines have blurred. Blurred from keeping his prize safe, to keeping you safe.
His words feel like they carry too much weight to be coming from a pirate. Like the impact they have is meant for manipulation.
And if that’s they’re intention either way, it worked. Because a part of you resigns to believe it.
He waits for confirmation on your end that you understand, and you give that to him through a curt nod.
“Good. I’ll be back later, you go to sleep.”
Your heart wrenches for no apparent reason as he lingers close to you for a moment longer. Then he drags himself away from you, despite the intense urge to do otherwise.
You catch his eyes a final time as he leaves the room. Leaving the door unlocked…
It tempts you, but with the boat rocking like this, you think better for yourself.
Now you want to throw yourself off the ship again, but for an entirely different reason.
You’ve laid trust in him. Something you said you wouldn’t ever do. Oh how that promise to yourself broke quickly.
But you’re drunk and vulnerable, and his words were so soft and sweet. Two sides of yourself are at war.
Yet either way, you feel it can only lead to a plethora of bad things. It’s all too much for you right now.
Unlacing your own corset, you wiggle out of it, then slip out of everything else. You stand in only undergarments, realising how truly exhausted you are now that you’re back in his room.
The alcohol and emotional turmoil settles deep in your bones, you feel it rattle heavily with each step.
You grab soft clothes he bought for you today, and pull them over you, taking off your bra.
The storm is coming. You feel it within you. It’s a foreshadow of your mentality, the precursor of what’s to come with all of this— and the ever growing complexity of your feelings.
You crawl into Harry’s bed, ashamed at the way you inhale his scent. Hating the way it’s turned into a form of reassurance.
He has kept you safe this last week, which in your subconscious— whose clinging to any sort of saftety— means he is something to you that he shouldn’t be. And you wonder when he went from something you disdained to something you craved connection with.
The idea of stockholm syndrome was familiar to you, but didn’t resonate. Or maybe you were in denial… who fucking knows. All you are sure of is that he makes you feel somewhat stable. Your body craves that shred of stability more than anything.
Either way, it didn’t stop you from nestling into his sheets. Or falling asleep curled up in them.
Nor did it hinder you from when he finally returned to reach out for him, all while still hazed with the slumber you were just in.
A meek call of his name came from your mouth as he gets into his bed, it was at least an hour or so later. The sun would be closer to rising then not, but you choose to haul your body closer to him the second you could.
He sighs with relief of finally laying down, the weather sounds worse outside now. It’s gotten harsher sooner than he expected, something hurrying the system further south. Although it means it’ll hit earlier, at the least it’ll be over in a day or two.
He must’ve gotten undressed, because as you press yourself into his back, his bare skin is warm to the touch.
It was evident feeling him now that the sun coursed through his veins, it replaced the blood of a regular person. He spent so many hours in it, it seemed to be a part of him.
“You’re so warm.” You stated quietly, half conscious.
“Mm, and you’re so bloody cold.” He mutters, voice deep and ready for sleep. His comment causes him to roll into you, tugging you closer into his chest.
Somehow, regardless of if you had been asleep for an hour, you still felt exhausted. Maybe it was the drinks too, they were settling a slight hangover upon you. So, shamelessly you coiled further into his arms.
Your hands snaked up his bare back, and into the hair at the nape of his neck. The curls were damp as you played with them.
There’s definitely still something in your system, and he notices it as well.
“You’ve gotta be still a little tipsy… ya all over me dove.” He laughs tiredly.
Your front is pressed to his, his scent equally as distracting as the slabs of muscles you could feel up against you.
“Tipsy and exhausted.” You murmur, eyes fluttering shut as you carry on playing with his hair.
“Oh, are y’feelin’ needy?” He teases, voice slipping into a shockingly deep lilt, one you’d caught glimpses of yesterday morning.
It sparked a feeling in the pit of your stomach, “Shut up.”
The two of you did eventually go quiet, nothing but the sounds of mixing breath and the brush of hands against skin.
His own hands had taken refuge on your waist, rubbing gentle circles with calloused fingers. Somewhere in the back of your head you reevaluate for the seventh time just how intoxicated you still both were. Enough alcohol in your system to completely blur the lines.
You couldn’t even claim in the morning the cuddling was an accident on part of your sleeping selves. You’d have to try and pass it off as the drinks from earlier. Which although true, feels like a harder excuse to play off this significant.
You were wrapped up in his arms. Voluntarily. And… enjoying it.
It’s a horrible thing to be indulging in. It’s only going to spell you more trouble. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.
He felt you slip back into a quiet sleep, evident in the way your fingers ceased their movement where they sat, tangled in his hair.
In the silence of the night, he thought about you.
Images trailed carelessly through his mind, dragging up ideas of what the two of you looked like right now. He wished he could see it from an outside perspective.
The way you had completely settled into his frame. Chest to chest.
He could feel the ridges and dips of your body too easily, only separated by a thin cotton sleep shirt you’d put on.
Something throbs inside of him at the touch, and to make matters worse, you stir, throwing your leg over his hip just like you had the night before.
He feels dirty as he conceptualises the idea of something more with you.
He wishes he didn’t drink now, because he can’t get the vision of himself inside of you out of his head. He’s weak after some beer and liquor, he lacks self-control, even when half of him is begging to sort himself out. Now, because he hasn’t stopped himself early enough, his prick has swollen in his boxers.
Thank the stars you’re asleep.
He stays deathly still, pursing his lips, waiting his boner out.
Staving away the idea of being pushed inside of you. Such a pretty girl, you were. It’s hard not to wonder how good your mouth would be against his own.
It takes atleast 15 painful minutes for his cock to soften. He’s thankful for being tired, because once the thumping of his heart calms down, he allows himself to pull you further into his hold.
He will let himself have this, at the least.
———
Waking up was almost a carbon copy of the morning before.
A tangle of limbs, but you’ve had a warmth that’s sprouted through you the entire night.
However, this time, Harry was already awake.
The hours of sleep you got were minimal. And the sun wasn’t even fully up. It was mostly cloud coverage outside the window. The room still dim.
He watched you wake up, thankful it’s now— because otherwise he would’ve had to get up and go. Too much to do to be laying in bed with you, unfortunately.
He got to watch your eyes slowly open, their glossy appearance. They lazily scoped the room, as if re-familiarising your brain with your surroundings.
Then they dragged to Harry’s face, catching the softness of the morning still on him.
“I have a headache.” Was the first thing that croaked from your lips.
Your throat hurt and the hangover was clearly in its full effect. You did not usually drink that much.
He hums a laugh at your lack of greeting, starting off the morning with a complaint. Oddly charming somehow?
He wanted to kiss you still.
“Big night for you last night?” He asks, jokingly, but he knows you didn’t drink enough to forget anything.
“Don’t tease.” You plead, head dropping back down to between his chest.
He strokes a hand along your back, “We oughta get some food into ya.”
His gentle encouragement falls on deaf ears. All you’re able to do is fall back into his hold.
“Dove.” The coo he lets out does nothing but makes your stomach flutter.
You shake your head against the warm skin of his chiseled chest. All the muscle there… fuck it makes you light headed.
But you can’t think about that.
You just wanted him with you right now.
“Harry.”
Hearing his name makes the heart in his chest clench.
“Stay here.” You say, simply.
At his momentary silence, your voice drops.
A whisper.
A plea.
“Please?”
Everytime you talk to him like that, a piece of him unravels.
Already too far in, he throws another handful of cation to the wind. Before he knows it, there will be nothing left.
His quiet demeanour is unusual. Where was his quip that usually followed?
You were slowly poisoning him.
“You’re like a drug.” He states.
You’re not sure how to feel. Is that good… or bad?
“Is that bad?”
He doesn’t say anything, just rolls his body weight to the side, moving you to be facing one another.
He stares into your eyes, searching for something. An answer maybe.
But it’s just not one he’s going to find yet.
Time is a virtue, they say.
And maybe if he waits long enough, unravels far enough, gives away enough of himself. He’ll know.
He’ll find out what it is about you that drags him in.
Maybe you’re like the current. Yet he’s not sure if it’s taking him out to a reef, where paradise lay. Or dragging him out into a rip.
His eyes wander the plains of your face.
And finally, he speaks.
“I guess we’ll have to find out.”
———
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eveningepiphany · 3 months
Text
something about the legs | h.s oneshot
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summary: something about your best friends legs really does it for you, especially in skinny jeans…
warnings: besties with unexpected and very impulsive benefits, oral sex (mrec), lots and lots of talk about those mfing legs and thighs, dirty talk, h not expecting you to be like that until you are.
a/n: so it’s been a hot minute… hi again🤪 but something rlly just sent me spiralling with this pic of h’s fucking legs. look at them. anyways, enjoy me being a slut and channeling it into some fine literature, enjoy xoxo
———
Ovulation week is a curse. An absolute, utter curse.
Between the multitude of random fluctuating symptoms and skyrocketing hormones, you feel dreaded enough as it is. But the worst part, is every fucking month you become absolutely manic with need.
Some are increasingly better or worse than others, but this month is something off the charts.
There is no warrant for you to be this fucking horny at 9:32pm on a Thursday night. Yet here you are, squirming because you’re around someone that already riles you up enough as it is.
Harry is your best friend. Has been for years. Since the awkward starting phases of middle school. All braces paired with horrendous fashion choices. And into the ages of highschool throughout all the drama and predictable thematics. Into the present, where life throws you curveballs as you enter the world as young adults, and now that he’s in one direction. You can’t imagine going through all that with anyone else.
Actually, maybe it’s fit to mention you’re almost certain that this man never went through an awkward phase… despite the fact possibly everyone else on the planet did. Harry did not.
He was cute from the day he was born, it’s evident in the pictures, up until he hit puberty, then he became some ungodly mix of both cute and ridiculously hot.
It’s disgusting that someone can do both things at the same time. And also revolting that they can have no idea at all.
But tonight, he is all hot. Between the way he’s dressed, the way he’s walking, and the way he’s talking. It’s close to killing you where you’re sat.
Thighs clenched together like there’s a thousand dollar check between them, you sit on a outdoor couch at your family’s holiday house.
It’s just the two of you outside on the large decked patio. It’s a huge house by the lake that your parents and grandparents own, so you invited Harry to come stay for the week. Your family were thrilled you invited him, but have already turned in for an early night. Since they planned to be out on the lake for a day of water activities almost before the damn sun was even fully up.
Harry has a glass of alcohol in his hands— one that is completely dwarfed in his hold. It’s condensation forming small droplets over the ridges of his fingers.
He hasn’t realised the staring you’ve been doing, as he paces the deck talking about something to do with a recent song he’s been writing.
You’re sliding in small hums of agreement at the appropriate times without even hearing what he’s saying. Only the pleasing lilt in his voice that tickles your ears as it enters them.
He’s got those black skinny jeans on, the pair that cling to his hips for dear life. And not only are they fit to his hips, but they hug every single curve on his legs. The thick of his thighs all the way down to the muscle of his calf.
And if anything was the killer for you tonight, it was those.
You’re surprised you’re not drooling on yourself. Which is fucking disgusting, but fact. As there is an over-production of saliva in your mouth right now just looking at his legs.
He is so muscly there. The presumed strength of his thighs makes you actually pant, and you never thought legs did it for you like this. But my god right now, they certainly are.
“But I jus’ dunno Y/N,” he turns to you, causing you to snap your gaze from the curve of his ass which you were shamelessly just staring at, back to his face.
It doesn’t get better for you anywhere you look. The man was built and sculpted by a god. Every feature was painstaking to look at, and not be able to touch.
“What d’ya reckon would sound better?” He asks, nonchalantly, unaware you were just eyeing him up.
You feel some shame now, as you scramble to find an answer for the question you don’t even know the context for.
“Well, i think whatever you feel flows better. Yknow?” You swallow, praying to god it’s diluted enough of an answer that he’ll just take it without question.
He nods, and relief floods through you, “i s’pose you’re right.”
However that relief hardly lasts long, because he’s not as clueless as you’d presumed, “You’re pretty good at giving advice even when you’re only half listening.”
He saunters over from the span of deck he’d been pacing the last 10 minutes, sitting down next to you with a smug look on his face. You feel the cushions dip with his body weight, and you’re so delusioned that even a part of you twinges with desire at the understanding of his weight. The idea of him pressing it down on top of you during—
“What’s on ya mind, love, why are you s’faraway lookin’?” He asks, sipping at his drink with a quirk of his dark eyebrows.
“I—“ Christ. He’s manspreading a bit right now… thighs pushed apart, “I’m just tired. Been a big few days.”
His curly, and boyishly-messy hair is cascading over his forehead and casting a shadow of his green gaze, the same one that’s nailing you where you’re sat right now.
He doesn’t look very convinced. And he’s watching your eyes flicker around, looking guilty of a lie, presumably the words that just came from your mouth.
“You don’t have t’lie, dove.” He laughs, a soft songbird-like chuckle that somewhat eases your tenseness.
You feel so dirty for thinking about him like this. When he can’t tell you it’s okay to be imagining absolutely sinful things you’d do… or let be done when it comes to him. However, you are so hormonal right now, that you don’t have it in yourself to stop.
He was just simply the wrong person, in the wrong place, at coincidentally the right time in your hormonal cycle.
And you feel even worse because there’s years of history behind the two of you. And friends are not meant to think of each other like this, it makes things quickly complicated. And this is not a hallmark film.
“I know.” You sigh out, “it’s not you, H. I’m just… hormonal.”
His first thought was that you were on your period, a look of tender concern flitting across his face.
“Oh, is your period making you feel sick?”
You could laugh at the irony. You are infact neither of the things he thinks. Not bleeding, and not ill.
He has looked after you before when you’ve been in the trenches with your period. He is always so willing to get you anything when you’re not feeling well.
And you can tell by the look on his pretty face he’s about to ask you he can get you anything to help— pain relief, water, snacks or simply a hug.
A gentleman, as always.
But if he asks you if you need anything, you only have one answer and that’s him. You need him, and not in a platonic way. So you interject before he can ask,
“No, quiet the opposite.” You shake your head, pursing your lips.
“But it’s fine,” you amend curtly, “just girl stuff.”
The two of you get consumed by a momentary silence, he was waiting for more information, which you simply were not giving. After a few seconds, he sputters out a sudden laugh.
“You can tell me, if you want, idiot.” He laughs, nudging you with his knee. His very attractive leg being left pressed into yours. “Gross details and personal stuff never usually stop us.”
Your whole body is burning up, overwhelmed. He is so fucking hot, and caring. You want him filling up your goddamn throat.
“No, trust me. This is all left best untold and ignored. I can’t help it, so we’re just ignoring it.” Your tone is certain, and to this he nods. Able to tell that’s as much of an answer he’d be getting for now, so he begrudgingly accepts it.
“Fine, fine, you’re just so stiff. Need t’relax.” He slides his free hand behind your back to pull him into his side.
Tugging you the small distance between you two, your head comes naturally to rest in the crook of his neck. Nose inhaling the woodsy scent of his cologne, smelling like the refreshingly cool breeze on a muggy summer night.
His thumb strokes a delicate back and forth rhythm on the bare skin it’s found between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your fitted top.
It’s killing you, because he’s so gentle with you. Such a sweetheart really, but you’re breaking out a sweat at the feeling of his fingertips against your skin. You need a cold shower.
You try not to let your eyes wander down to the legs in those fucking jeans.
“S’long as ya alright,” he murmurs into your hair, “is there anything you need from me? ‘Cause if I can do anything for ya, yknow I would.”
Your stomach drops, how are you even supposed to answer that. Your face heats with even more guilt.
Your internal voice drops in her two cents on the question— your cock, she confidently stated. That was what she wanted.
“No, nothing you can do that’s reasonable, H.” You say, too dangerously close to him dragging the truth out of your needy mouth for your liking.
He tilts his head down to look at the profile of your face, curiously prodding further, “How unreasonable are we talking?”
“Ridiculously and foolishly unreasonable.”
“Why?”
“Sh. Don’t make me tell you, because I don’t want to.” You state defiantly, rolling away from his hold, since now you’re talking about it— although vaguely— it’s just making it worse.
Focusing on it is making the need more intense, your eyes feasting unintentionally on his muscled body relaxing on the couch.
He’s got this smirk on his lips. One you want to kiss off.
“You’re blushing, is it that bad?”
You scoff, “Yes, that bad.”
“Okay… so, it’s not your period, and it’s technically fixable— since you just said it’s unreasonable for me to do it… not impossible.” he’s wondering out loud, watching your every move.
Which now you’ve stood up and started pacing, trying to distract yourself from the pulsing between your legs and the begging voice in your head that wants to touch him so badly.
“Stop being nosey! God!” You frustratedly whine out, and he laughs at your sudden anger at not only him, but at seemingly just being a woman.
“Just trying to help, baby, don’t get mad.” He teases, and between his suddenly mocking mouth, your resolve snaps like a fickle twig.
“Fuck, I’m horny. Harry!” You groan out, covering your eyes over with the palms of your hands so you don’t have to see his likely disgusted face at your confession.
But now that you’ve started you can’t stop, “You just… your fucking legs and thighs are just… I don’t know! I’m ovulating and you’re just really sexy, it’s frustrating and I really want to die right now, H.”
In reality, his brows had just shot up with surprise, lips parting in shock. He could not believe you just admitted that.
He glanced down to his legs. He’s just in jeans, it wasn’t like he felt as though they were anything to write home about.
It shocked him that you even… well obviously the two of you are best friends. But it was rare that topics of sex came up, so all the sudden the conversation being about that and also about you is making his head spin.
Yet something comes over him, he doesn’t think as he speaks his next words, “Tha’s not as unreasonable as you made it out to be.”
You snap your hands down from your face, eyes locking onto his— he doesn’t look repulsed or uncomfortable as you had originally expected. He looks inexplicably open to the topic.
“I’ve got somethin’ you need, somethin’ that can fix it, love.” He states, shrugging his shoulders, his voice going almost sultry, “An’ yknow what I said, hm?”
At your silence— because you’re too stunned to even speak— he finishes the sentence for you, “Said I’d do anything for ya.”
Oh, is this quickly snowballing.
“Harry!” You shake your head, it feeling so wrong to be talking about this with him.
He abandons his drink on the small side table beside the couch, standing up and breaching the distance between you.
“Jus’ say the words, and then im yours.” He lowly whispers, and this is about to make you pass out. You’re clenching around nothing in your underwear, and the proposition is so tempting.
“We shouldn’t though. It’s not your responsibility to… satiate me.” You gulp out, nervous, yet body flaming with heat.
“Y/N, best friends help each other out… tha’s all it has to be, jus’ me making y’feel better.” he says, hand coming to run down your upper arm. And the second you started talking about this, his cock has been twitching where it’s confined his jeans.
“You can make all the decisions, all the calls, m’kay?” The statement was reassuring.
You lean into his touch, caving without anymore of a fight, “Okay… alright. Just… tell me if you change your mind. Please?”
His lips curl into a satisfied smile, feeling his hand get taken by yours. It’s much to risky to be fucking around with your best friend on the families patio, so you lead him down the steps into the dark, open backyard.
They have a pier, that’s lit with small solar lights, and that’s the first place you can that is reasonable enough to go. You tug him along the wooden decking it has, feet drumming against it.
Against a tree was too dark, and you at least want to see his cock if you’re getting the opportunity to touch it.
“On the pier, hey? That desperate.” He teases, and you push him with your free hand into one of its big wooden pillars.
“I want your cock down my throat, how’s that for desperate?” You scoff, pulling a laugh of pure shock from his own lips.
“I’m serious, H.” You look at him, stone cold expression. You are so riled up and ready to touch him that you need immediate confirmation this is something he wants.
“Go on, said you wanted it.”
Before you sink down onto your knees, you question him further, “you want this, though?”
A smile spreads over his mouth, “baby, you’re gonna be able to feel just how much i want this when you get down there. I was bricked the second you said you were horny.”
That was all you needed, dropping to the ground on your knees— now with his consent, your filter completely disappeared.
“Fuck me, Harry. I don’t think you understand how sexy you are.” Hands immediately coming up to squeeze the muscle of his thighs.
He hums a noise as he looks down at you on your knees, “Never thought legs would do it for you, but here we are.”
“Only thing i could think about is digging my nails into your thighs…”
You drag your hands back up to where the buckle of his belt laid, grabbing at it and undoing it. Slipping it out of the loops in his pants in a swift movement.
Leaning forward, you lift the hem of his black shirt, pressing your mouth against his happy trail.
You’re a slut for that little teasing patch of hair that dips below his low jeans. It causes you to whine out, a wordless sound of appreciation as you peck kisses over it.
The button and zipper quickly got undone by your nimble hands, and you finally brush over the prominent bulge that’s perked up in his boxers.
A realisation that you’re about to see your best friends dick for the first time kind of hits you, causing you to roll your lips between your teeth.
His suddenly strained voice comes from above you, “fuck, Y/N, don’t get shy with me. Y’can take me out.”
He’s almost ready to beg, even though this is all technically for you. But he didn’t anticipate how sensitive he would be when it’s a special girls hands running over his bulge.
However that’s exactly how it is, he’s already biting his lip as you cup him through his briefs, head tilted backwards with a sudden shared need.
You draw his jeans further down, “patience, im just enjoying you, pretty boy.”
The doting nickname earns a small groan from his lips, paired with the fact you’re now mouthing at his inner thighs. They’re warm and firm, dusted with dark hairs. You suck the most inner and upper part of his thigh into your mouth, causing him to grunt out.
You busy yourself with that particular part of his skin for a moment, rubbing the backs of your hands around the flesh of his ass. Still unfortunately covered by his briefs.
“So fuckin’ good to me, H.” You muttered into his soft skin, dragging your nose over to kiss the fabric covering his hard cock.
It makes him twitch, “letting me do this… and touch you where I want.”
You sound so out of it, replacing your mouth with your hand momentarily so you can go back to kissing his thighs, teeth impulsively barring over them. He shudders at the sensation.
After a bit more teasing, you finally start to pull the waistband of his black calvins down.
When his cock is fully out, you moan. You straight out moan at the sight of it. It’s glistening tip is a flushed red, beading out a sliver of precum for you, and it was safe to say he’s well equipped.
The two of you curse in sync as you hold him in your hand, feeling the weight as you stroke gently.
“Christ, tha’s good.” He curses out, hips stuttering forward slightly. You take a moment to look up at his face.
His cheeks have gone a slight red, and his lips are shiny from his teeth and tongue constantly running over them. Not to mention the way his lidded eyes are gazing down at you.
You hold eye contact as you lean in to lick over his tip in one solid stroke, watching his face twist in pleasure.
It makes your core drip. Seeing his cock, tasting it, watching him react to your touch. It fuels you to take his tip into your mouth, giving a gentle suck.
Your fingers take refugee digging into his thighs, and you are already loosing you mind with him between your lips. Somehow, you’re almost convinced you could come just from sucking on his dick.
Your self control is completely shattered now, you draw back and spit over his length, listening to him groan out as he watches the action.
“Drool on me, darling.” He says, the gentle demand makes you eager to impress him. You liked the idea of him telling you what to do… maybe even forcing you.
Fuck, you are sick and twisted, you scoffed internally at your self. Yet proceeding to gather your saliva and let it dribble down onto him.
“Thank you, thank you…” you murmur against him, and he twitches at your still airy voice. He would kill to know just how wet you were between your legs.
It was such a sight for you though, seeing him start to get slicked up with your own spit. Your mouth reconnected with him, sliding further down, hand coming up to massage his balls.
You’re whining around him now, starting to move in a sort of rhythm over his cock. You can’t help it, you were becoming frantic at him filling your throat.
The vibration of your mouth sends his hand flying into your hair, drawing a cuss from his lips, “fuck, Y/N…”
You get his cock as far as you can into your mouth without gagging— you’ll leave that for a little later— stroking the remainder. There’s something about the way he takes up the space between your lips, the feeling of his thick cock atop your tongue.
You glance up at him, fingertips teasing the inner parts of his thigh. Just as you look up, you give a harsh suck, hollowing out your mouth and lathing your tongue on the underside of him. Feeling the vein that runs along him.
His head almost bangs back against the wooden beam he’s leaning on, you feel the slight stutter of his hips.
A moan reverberated around you, filling your ears pleasingly. You draw back for a breathe, “you taste so good.”
His hand curls in your hair, panting out, “You’re such a needy girl…”
“Like that?” He asks at the whimper that come from you, “like being told that I see how desperate y’becoming?”
You nod immediately, “please…”
At your way of asking for more dirty talk he smiles, “becoming my little slut? Warming my cock with your mouth just because you’re so horny for it.”
When you don’t reply with words, and only a senseless moan, he taps your mouth with his fingers gently.
“Show me, baby.”
You part your lips almost instantly at his command, jutting your wet tongue out, ready to take him back into your mouth.
He guides his cock back between your lips, and that’s about as far as he gets before you have to take over from him again. All he can register is how hot and warm you’re mouth is as it wraps around him again.
You start to bob your head, taking him all the way down your throat with a slight gag. You’re whining without warrant now, all over his spit slicked cock.
It’s paired with his own moans of pleasure and words of praise as you suddenly draw back, flicking over his wet tip with your tongue, teasing it and making him grunt.
Your soul existence quickly slips to being just about his cock and hearing his noises. Being able to look up at him and see the sweat beginning to sheen over his forehead, and the mess of his soft hair.
His eyes are squeezed shut, and he has to forcibly open them every so often to see you. A reality check for himself that down on her knees, is his best friend. Drooling all over his prick with a insatiable need.
“Good fuckin’ girl.” He states as you take him all the way down your throat again.
“Taking me like the slut y’are. Might ‘ave to fuck you like one later, how’s that sound?” His mouth has gone loose now, brain muddled with only thoughts of you in it.
You suck and nod over him, brain rioting with a yes at his question.
“Probably so wet, so warm.” He mutters in half thought, and the idea of him even thinking of you like that makes you clench multiple times in your panties.
You roll you hips against nothing which he is grateful he caught with his half lidded eyes. The look of sheer desperation that crossed your face.
Moving faster, you starting taking his cock at a pace that immediately made his hand coil tighter in your hair.
“Fuck… im gon’ come faster than I’d like if y’keep— shit— doing that.” He moans, and you draw back quickly.
“Need to taste it… please, Harry.” You beg, forcing your throat back down around him once you’d got a breathe.
You gagged around him in full this time, earning his hips bucking against you.
Strings of dirty talk and cusses were flying out of his mouth, like a litany being repeated over and over. He kept praising you.
“That warm mouth…fuck… fucking me so good baby. Want to keep y’down there for hours, like m’personal little cockslut.”
Your nails dug into the backs of his meaty thighs, making you moan around him. Spit was covering your chin as you moved hastily over his hard prick.
“Like that idea?” He asked gruffly, “making you drool all over me like this until I’m empty, an’ y’ve come in y’panties to the point you’re dripping.”
You feverishly bob your head, sucking hard against him. If his bucking hips and loose mouth are any indicator, he’s getting close.
A few more minutes of your mouth, and he’s swearing, “im gonna come, dove— fuck— where do y’want it?”
Trying not to stop to long, looking up at his flushed face and blown out eyes, you lowly plead, “on my tongue, please…”
“Good slut, good fucking girl!” He slurs out.
You draw back to his tip, eager to taste him properly. You spit messily over his pulsing red head, kitten licking over it while your hand fucks the rest of his length at a fast pace.
It has him a wreck, and before he know it, he’s moaning out so loud he’s almost scared he woke someone in the house up.
“Fuck! I’m going to come, baby, im gonna come!”
You watch in completely infatuation as his eyes screw shut and his mouth drops into a gasp for air. You feel his hips stutter, and his cock pulse and twitch as it releases onto your awaiting tongue.
He tastes so good. You feel ashamed for even liking it that much, but as it spurts out his tip and drips onto your lower lip, your insane over it.
You rub it in with his tip, coating it over your tongue, and he pants as he opens his eyes to watch you.
It’s a sight etched into his mind forevermore. The fact his come is painted all over your tongue right now.
“Swallow it, pretty girl, let me watch.” He exhaustedly instructs you, voice raspy and deep in his post orgasm haze.
You do as told, and realising some has spilt even onto the corner of his thigh now that you’ve let him go.
Not letting it go to waste, you clean it off with a lick of your still eager mouth. Gently kissing over the spot as well.
“Taste so good, H.” You whisper against him, moving over to kiss his tip a final time.
“Thank you, again. For letting me do that…” You almost feel more satisfied than you would have if you had gotten to come as well.
“Made me feel amazing, baby.”
Or so you thought, because once he raised the point again… “If you want, since I can only imagine how desperate your little cunt is, I can return the favour somehow?”
And it was impossible to say no when he looked like that, boxers still half down his beautiful legs and face flushed that sexy shade of red.
You were in for a night, that was for sure. So much for an early morning.
———
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eveningepiphany · 4 months
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hiii idk if you’re still planning to continue pirate harry but if you do can we see the princess get sick and harry takes care of her please <3
hiii!! about time I jumped back on tumblr and let you all know I am infact alive. i am 100% still updating the series i just don’t know when! i am trying to prioritise myself at the minute as i have had a lot of stressful stuff going on this past month. i hope that doesn’t cone across as an excuse or anything to anyone, but do know im def still writing🤍
but onto ur little request, that is such a phenomenal trope and I def think it should make an appearance in the series.
all my love guys, thank you for ur support as always, through thick and thin x
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eveningepiphany · 4 months
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i love pirates gold so much !!! is a new chapter coming soon? <3
absolutely is!!
not 100% sure when, but those on the taglist will be notified when anything new drops🩵
so excited for you to see what I have in store for our pair x
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eveningepiphany · 4 months
Text
still a cutie even with a buzz🙏
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cut the cameras
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eveningepiphany · 5 months
Text
pirates gold | H.S series, part two
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[part one]
[series masterlist]
summary: challengers are arising as life on the ship continues. not only that, but all kinds of tension is building between you and harry. good and bad... and something that feels forbidden to even entertain in your minds eye.
warnings: swearing, tension, fluff, sexual mentions, talks of violence, harry being so so fine, mentions of kidnapping, one bed trope.
a/n: i cannot believe how long this took me to write, I’m praying I can do part three in half the time. thank you for your patience my loves<3
———
There are plenty of moments you are left wondering how in control of your life you actually are.
If you truly have any power at all— because sometimes it feels like everything is spinning relentlessly out of your grasp.
Well, especially under your current circumstances. Since your last 4 days have been spent as someone else’s prisoner.
Which, you couldn’t have predicted would lead you into the bathroom of your own captor and being left to bathe with his own personal collection of things.
Being in there was a shock enough as it is because… of course you’d noticed how well-groomed he appeared. But to see that he actually had things like soap and hair wash…
Another stereotype you presumed, was that pirates were horrendous when it came to maintaining a sense of personal hygiene. But it was another thing you were evidently incorrect about when it came to Harry. And seemingly the rest of his crew as well.
As you washed off in the shower, scrubbing away the collected dirt, dust and sweat off of your body, you felt almost like a new person.
It felt inexplicably good to use soap again, which is a luxury you took for granted much too often back home. But finally getting rid of all the residue on your skin was an amazing feeling. Including washing away the salt from your ocean dip a few days ago. Which was stuck in the crevices and creases of your skin, like it was slowly dehydrating you from the outside in.
So you took probably longer than you should in his shower… but it didn’t seem as time ticked on that he was in his room or at the bathroom door.
Not even when you eventually stepped out from the water, drying yourself off with a rag-like towel. Looking at yourself in the mirror, taking in your frame, and how the skin under your eyes is a tad less sunken in after a long shower.
Maybe it was from stress, or lack of sleep. But either way, you rubbed your fingers underneath them. Attempting to smooth out the remaining darkness there, as if that would work.
Settling on the fact what was left of them was only temporary, you decide to just get into the clothes Harry had given you. Pretending it doesn’t weird you out as you slide his black shirt over your body.
It was far from tight on you, and the fabric probably could’ve swallowed you up as it clung to you. And as you pulled the soft pants up, they were equally as big.
You gazed in the mirror again, looking at how his clothes fit you. Struggling to envision him in such simplistic clothing.
Suddenly, his body filling out the once baggy pants and shirt is taking up the confines of your mind. They certainly would fit him properly. And likely hug the muscle built on his chest... you have to swat the mental image away, before it conjures into something more.
So immediately, you jump to distract yourself. Eyes roaming around the bathroom until they lock onto the cabinet beneath the bathroom bench.
Your hands don't hesitate, coming to the cupboards to open them, pulling the handles so they unlatch.
It’s sadly sparse inside. Almost entirely empty despite a few miscellaneous items. A hair comb, a dagger sheath and a… sewing kit? You frown at the sewing kit, unable to imagine him doing anything as delicate and time consuming as hand sewing.
However, he does wear intricate outfits. He seemingly prizes them, actually. So, it seems fitting that if wear and tear got to them, he'd be keen to fix them. That's the conclusion you're going to go with anyway.
But regardless, in the small wooden confines, there is nothing you can steal for your own benefit. You think of shutting it, but in the silence something urges you to open the small plastic box anyways.
You drop onto your knees, sliding the container to the edge of the shelving, and hooking your fingers into the latches and pulling the lid upwards.
There are several little threading needles— even clothing pins— placed among regular cotton thread in an array of colours. But there’s also multiple wads of fishing line, which immediately makes you wonder why it's in there. Trying to pinpoint what kind of clothing needs fishing line as a stitching.
You’re about to pull it out, but conveniently, there’s a rattle outside of the door. One that indicates someone is coming into his quarters. You hold back a frustrated sigh, suddenly wishing you had of taken a shorter shower.
Your body kicks into quick movement, hurrying to click his sewing box shut and put it back where it was in the first place. Pushing hard on the latches that now suddenly don’t want to cooperate with your haste.
It’s silent outside of the footsteps that trail to the bathroom door, making you wince as the latch on the cupboard echoes a tiny clack as it’s shut.
The feet stop at the door, and your breath is held from where you’re kneeling. Not sure if you’re hoping for Harry or not.
“Y/N?” His voice calls with a rap on the door, “y’decent?”
“I—“ you slowly rise from the floor, cringing at the creak of the boards beneath your feet as you stand.
“Yea… yep.”
The lock jingles and the door swings open, revealing Harry— who looks no different to how he did almost an hour ago. Black blouse, black pants. Nothing had changed.
You feel suddenly vulnerable standing in his clothes in front of him, and you have to force yourself not to wring your hands at the bottom of his long shirt.
“Mm, nice to see you actually showered, ‘stead of tryin’ to break out.” He comments, nonchalantly stepping in through the door. Eyes scanning you in his clothes.
As he steps closer, the only difference you notice is the red bruising around his knuckles, on the hand hung down by his waist.
“Oh, I tried.” You mused, attempting to push confidence in your tone— adverting your gaze away from his bruised hand.
He hums, still staring at your frame, “To no avail, I see.”
“I suppose not.” You remarked, to which he shrugs. His body language is casual, but you’re still unconvinced that everything is normal.
Now you're staring at him, trying to decipher what the fuck is happening right now. Given the fact nothing about this seems planned.
“But I am confused...” You prompt, and to it, he cocks an eyebrow.
He steps forward, “Go on.”
“What exactly have you done in the last hour?” It comes from your mouth as an accusation. One that draws out a rash laugh from him pink mouth.
“Why is it you assume I’ve done something?” He's awfully close to you now, and it highlights the features on his face. Ones you're desperately trying to pay no attention to. But it's much harder to ignore the fall of his hair over green eyes when its up close.
“Because that just seems the most likely.” You stated. Walking to brush past him—shoulder passing his chest with a light touch— the bathroom feeling far too cramped for the two of you. And the air around you had suddenly gone hot with tension on your end.
You make your way out into his quarters, making use of your need for distance, and deciding to inspect the room while you could.
Harry turns on his heel, watching as you now suddenly walk around his bedroom like it was your birth right. Hands trailing over frames on the wall, and picking up random objects he’d strewn on the floor.
He sighs at this, part of him wanting to stop you from snooping around his place, but he’s also undeniably curious at your mannerisms while looking around. The way your eyebrows pull down into a frown as you pick up an array of things. Including odd ones, like a bag of dried out barnacles, and whetstones block he uses to sharpen his blades with.
“I bought ya up here t’shower. Because unlike many, I have a hygiene standard, darlin’.” He says, and you turn from where you were touching the cover of his unmade bed. Fingertips noting the softness of it. He sleeps here… your brain announces as though it’s unfathomable to imagine him at rest in his own bed. Which was tucked into the corner of the all-wood room, three circular windows running beside its edge.
Looking at his hand again, finally getting the courage to bring it up.
“And your knuckles are swelling up. All bruised. They weren’t like that earlier.”
He smirks, completely bypassing your question, “looking at my hands, ay? Didn’t pick you to be that kind of girl.”
You sneer at his stupid tease, irritated at his arrogance.
“Just seemed all rather impromptu, and now you’re back here with bruised up fists that you didn’t have earlier.” You challenge, after walking slowly away from his bed.
“You don’t stop until you get an answer y’like. Is that right, princess?” He scoffs.
But he knows you’re brilliant at reading someone, tragically so. And it’s obvious you’re not as stupid as he wishes. Because he watches as your eyes narrow, clear that you know he’s dodging your questions for a reason.
“And you don’t give answers unless it suits you best, I take, captain?”
To that, he chuckles, and decides to prove you right, walking over to grab your wrist with the unscathed hand.
“M’clothes are a bit big on you…” he comments, partially using it as an excuse to drag his eyes down your body again. Completely changing the subject.
“Tomorrow, we’re pulling into port, we’ll buy some stuff that actually fits you.” Despite being the one to decide this, there's a pang of disappointment in his chest at you getting out of his oversized clothes. He ignores it. The hand that's becoming all too familiar to your wrist is leading you out of his quarters, and your eyes dart to take in the room a final time. Hoping to commit it to memory.
“That’s a bit doting. Are you going to take me with you, or is that a far fetched wish?” You drawl, already figuring you’ll be locked away while they roam about. Buying you clothes while you sit prisoner.
You should probably just be grateful for the fact he is willing to spend gold on you, given the circumstances. But who would you be kidding if you tried to portray that right now. ‘Thanks for buying me clothes while I sat locked up in your jail cell!’ He would audibly cackle if you said that.
He chuckles at your bitter sounding tone, “I’d bet you’d be rather upset if we went into town without you.”
You scowl at him, having to bite your tongue as to not say anything rash, choosing not to respond at all.
He’s taken you outside of his room, and locked his door with the small ring of keys he keeps on him. Beginning a slow walk along the corridors of the ship, seemingly in no hurry at all. He pulls your arm to rest firmly between his elbow and ribcage as you stroll the halls, as though you’re on some kind of leisurely walk.
To your silent annoyance, he rolls his eyes with amusement, knowing you'll hold quite the grudge if he doesn't take you out when the ships docks at Sintir. “I’ll think about it, dove.”
The two of you walk in quiet for a minute. Clacking of shoes against decking echoes through the hallways below deck. You get lost in thought, until his voice quickly coaxes you out it.
“We’re stopping for two nights.” He suddenly clarifies for you, “After we buy you some suitable clothes, maybe you can come into town after dark.”
You’re skeptical of his offer, given that it’s not a guarantee. But you’re desperate to just get off this ship for a bit. Not even in an attempt to escape, you know that wouldn’t work even if you tried. Purely to be on land again, and around people who aren’t felons at sea.
So you soften your frown a bit, going quiet for a few moments. You decide to try the hopeless approach, no matter how weak your faith is in it. But maybe you'll get some pity from the man beside you, “I miss the towns, and being on solid earth, that’s all. It's all I've ever known.”
You were already embarrassed at how the helpless tone sounded on your voice. Maybe because is wasn't genuine, but either way, internally you gagged a little.
He laughs abruptly at your words, almost shocked that you attempted to persuade him with that.
“No need to pull the damsel in distress card.” He’d shook his head, smiling wide with humor at your expense, “My decision is impartial to a poor attempt at manipulation.”
“It’s not manipulation!” You turn to snap at him, dropping the meek mannerisms just as quickly as you put them on.
“Oh but it is, darling.” He bumps your shoulder with his own, turning a corner that reveals another set of stairs, “y’bad as any other pirate. Outside of the shitty lying.”
You shake your head, huffing out air from your nose as he leads you up them. The annoying thing is that he's right. However you still fight to prove your point.
“Can you blame me? I just want to go into a town and do something normal. Have a little stability amongst this shit show!” Your grumble made him chuckle, as it seemed to always do. Like as if he could not take a word you say seriously, even if he tried.
“I suppose I can’t fault you for it.” He hums, pushing a hatch open after unlinking your arms. He went through it first so he could help you up. Hands steadying you once your feet come in contact with the floor. Because suddenly, you’re on the bow of the ship. The afternoon sun out and warm on your skin as the waves are calmly lapping over themselves.
You momentarily forget that you’re pissed off with him. All you can focus on is the fresh air and golden sun.
His eyes take in your deep inhalation, and the way you look so relieved to be outside. Understandable given the fact you spent 2 days locked in a tiny room.
A feeling he can’t name stirs in his chest. And the voice in the back of his head is suddenly encouraging taking you into Sintir while the ships docked there.
“It’s… nice out.” You exhale, your gaze veering to him momentarily as you speak. His green eyes are locked onto yours, and you quickly make to slide your attention back out on the blue water.
Which is easy to look at, since it doesn’t technically end. Just melts into the equally blue horizon where the sky meets the sea.
“It almost always is, up this far north.” He nods, pushing the sudden emotion away. “It won’t stay that way once we leave the port. There’s a storm well in due this week.”
You mentally file away that you’re up north, but a part of you gets anxious with the idea of being out while there’s a storm.
On land, you always enjoyed them. They brought a sense of serenity to you. The thunder and rain sometimes came so loud in Kelna it drowned out everything going on in your life. Temporarily, of course, however it was nice while it lasted. But on water was a different story. You’d heard they’re rocky rides, treacherous even. That ships often enter a storm, and don't come out the other side.
“Don’t look s’worried.” He comments at your suddenly terrified energy, he places a palm on your back to usher you forwards.
“Just that I really don’t want to die out here.” You sigh, not denying the fear since it’s clearly that obvious.
You walk willingly wherever he’s decided to take you, sharing a short wave to the man up by the ships wheel. He had messy head of hair, one that you imagined when it was windy, would blow all over the place.
“Have faith in us, Y/N. We’ve weathered many storms jus’ fine.”
“Oi, H,” the scruffy pirate you just waved at calls down to his captain, as he tracks down the stairs with you. Going from the steering deck to the main deck.
Harry tilts his head over his shoulder, pausing on the stairs where you both stand, indicating he’s listening with a nod. You briefly trail your eyes over his side profile. The curve of his nose, and the cut of his jaw.
But his crewmate barely gets a couple words out before he’s interrupted shortly after, “How did ya go wi—“
“Fine, Liam.” Abruptly, Harry cuts in. Not rudely, but curtly.
The man on the wheel, who now has a name to you— Liam— alternates his gaze between the two of you suddenly. Like he’s dawning upon why he just got interrupted.
“Ah, I see.” He nods, quickly busying himself with what he was doing beforehand.
Harry continues walking you down a set off stairs, back down to main deck.
“I’m going to assume that was about earlier, and has something to do with why you dragged me out of my cell.” You say, attempting indifference.
“You’d assume right.” He nods, but you wait for him to say something more— which he doesn’t.
You sigh in frustration, “I'll also take that's why I'm still up here, and not locked back up."
You're trying to gauge yet again how much of his actions are kindness, and how much of them are out of an attempt to gain something.
"Not why you're out here, 'm tryna give ya a bit of sun." He brings you to a stop at the far left of the main deck, smirking as he talks, "I've got to patch up a old sail, incase we need it. No better place to do it but out here."
He pays no mind to you as he kneels down to a storage unit a few feet away from you in the floor, unlatching it, and hauling out a huge canvas sail it. The sheet crinkles as he carries it out, and dumps it on the wooden deck.
You frown, wondering if he's the only one on the ship who can do any sort of needlework... because it seems like the only reasonable option as to why he's doing it himself. So you ask, "Why exactly are you doing it?"
He laughs, striding back over to pull a much larger sewing kit from the bottom of the storage space, and also sheet of spare canvas.
"You are filled with clichés of us, darling. What is makin' y'ask that?" He chucks the kit and extra fabric down, following to sit shortly after.
You're still standing as you try to conjure up an answer that doesn't sound unbelievably stupid. But he is cross-legged, pulling the damaged side of the sail over his muscular thighs.
"Because..." You pause, still unsure how to phrase it as you stare at him. You're looking at his side profile again, and it's lit by the overhead sun.
He glances your way, essentially looking up at you from where he's positioned on the floor. He finishes your sentence for you, "'Cause I'm a captain? And why would I do something productive for myself and my crew when I could make someone below me do it?"
"Well... basically."
"You're going t’find out very quickly the dynamic between me ‘n my crew." he pulls open the sewing box, filled with larger needles, and thick thread.
"I may be their Captain, but we’re all like brothers. I see them as that, not as my workers. They are my team, and we help out whenever and wherever we can." He states, sounding completely sincere, "And, I'm the only one that can actually hand sew things, so here we are."
"Here we are..." you parrot quietly, almost finding it endearing the way he talks about his crew mates.
Delicately, he’s threading up a needle and starting to take it through the sail and its new panel, lined up over the relatively large tear. His hands are steady, hair fallen over his eyes as he concentrated on starting the stitch. You stare at the dark bruising over his knuckles, and you swear that wasn’t as deep a shade earlier.
Without thought, you slowly sink to the ground, back resting against the side of the boat, not waiting long before you start to ask him more questions.
“Whatever happened to put that large of a hole in your sail?” You’d quizzed.
He knew it wouldn’t take long before you started to pry him with more of your wonders, “A cannonball.”
Your face can’t hide the shock, because of how casually he answered you. Your lips were parted in surprise at his response when he glanced over to you. A smirk over his mouth, popping a dimple on his cheek.
“Jus’ a run in with another ship.” He mused, “They tore a hole in our sail, and we tore a hole into the side of their boat.”
You almost sputter a laugh, of course he has to brag about not having lost that altercation.
“I hope you have a winning streak under your belt.” You shake your head, smiling a little.
“Why? Because I’m carryin’ such precious cargo.” Alluding to you with a charming cadence to his voice.
You’re stretched out in the sun as he watches you, and you almost look happy. If he didn’t know any better. But maybe you are a little. Circumstantially, you’re probably far from it. But in this moment, you look calm in a way he hasn’t seen before.
“Obviously. And all this would be for nothing if I go down with your ship and you don’t get your gold.”
“Tragic really, after putting up with y’through all this. Including jumpin' off m'own ship.” He teases.
“It’s been like, 5 days. I cant have been that annoying outside of the jumping thing.” You can’t tell if you’re offended at his jabs like you should be. You wish you fully were, but the banter is almost pleasing to have with him. It gives you something to laugh at. And also gives you an excuse to be insolent with him.
“Mm, if only y’knew…” he sighs in faux exhaustion, a tiny laugh escaping through his façade.
The way the ship cruised through the waves was inexplicably calming to experience up here. With the sun and the warm around surrounding you.
His hands were weaving the needle through the material, it’s mesmerising to watch. He’s definitely skilled at it, since it has hardly taken him long to get one side sewed on.
“You look quite content over there.” He comments, not looking up from where he was.
The observation stuns you a little, because of how true it was.
“I… it’s hard not to be after being in a tiny wooden room for 2 days straight.” You answer, but it doesn’t feel like the only reason why.
“Y'know,” he begins, “I excepted someone like you to have the worst set of sea sickness, and to be constantly terrified, but you've seemingly proved me wrong.”
“Have you underestimated me?”
“Possibly.” He remarks. And you don’t answer him again.
You're struck with the realisation that you actually don’t hate being above deck. Or really on the ship— outside of the reasons to why you’re on it. You think you might have underestimated yourself.
Like a reel of film, your mind flashes through images of a life like this. Outside of the damn cell at the bottom of the boat.
One where you spend your days free on the water. Both free in regards to your imprisonment here— but also from your life and looming responsibilities at home.
You envision yourself suddenly in the most pirate-like attire, standing up on those huge masts like they do in fictions sold at the bookstore— the odd one that would romanticise the life of piracy instead of completely defacing it.
It hits you like a slap in the face. One that stings and burns on the side of your cheek, lingering for days after it initially impacted.
You have to forcibly squeeze your eyes closed, because there is no room to have feelings like that in your already muddled brain.
Harry speaks up from where you forgot he was sitting, “What exactly is Kelna like?”
“Prison.” You blurt, hand almost coming to slap over your own mouth in surprise.
Your head is in disarray, and that somehow slipped its way out. Because all the sudden, you realise you almost felt more trapped in your own home than you honestly do here.
You tried to escape this ship out of fear that you would be killed— or sent somewhere worse— but when that element is removed from the equation, you’re certain anything is better than Kelna.
“Im kidding—“ you hurriedly spew out, but his head is turned to frown at you, “it’s nice… it’s great. Very lovely people and we have… yea. It’s great.”
Of course, you love your family. Some of them. Your younger brother and older brother, your younger sister. But outside of your siblings, there were few people to love.
“Sound like y’trying to convince yourself more than me.”
You guess you kind of were in a sense. And a part of you wanted to just say how much you never wanted to go back, if that were an option. You only ever told your older brother Poe about how desperate you were to get away from the court. One person. One soul out of this whole world of them knows.
Only Poe knows how terrified you were that Misha— Kelna's infamous prophet— would come to the podium to speak the most misconstrued riddle, that supposedly announced you were to take the crown. Your own stomach churns at the concept.
But revealing that to Harry felt like giving away a vulnerable piece of yourself. He doesn't deserve to be the second person you entrust with something so pressing for you. Which you remind yourself that you swore not to lay an ounce of trust in this man’s hands. That your impartialness to a separate life here is due to your life at home. And that freedom on this ship is unlikely.
“I’m not…” you breathe out in defeat. Trying desperately to steer clear of the subject, because its easy to drag you into a pit of ever-welling anxiety.
However, he can sense your complete shift in energy. This is your first time really talking about home. And it seems like you have more than bitterness to it. He expected a whimsical answer. One that showed your longing for return, or that you even valued part of being in a court. But he got nothing of the sorts.
It slips from his soft mouth before he can stop it, “Are you not safe at home?”
He’s completely disregarded his sewing venture, and has turned to look right at you. His features have softened, and he looks genuinely a little concerned. But you brush it off for deceit. Of course he would want to know something like that. Want to pick away at your seams until all the sudden you're unraveling in the palm of his hands, tearing your whole village down with it.
“Yes!” You jump to clear that up. Secondly feeling like he's almost babying you.
“Probably safer there than I am here.” You bark, but it’s hardly true if you really think about it. Attempts on a royals life are always a threat, and it’s happened to your family members before. Which transcends into a whole other story, equally as painful for you as anything else at home.
His brows pull into a frown. He realises he’s struck something sensitive here. The topic seems to make you recoil completely. Your body language has changed, just like that. Straight from relaxed to on edge.
“I feel like there's a pretty equal risk." He provides, picking back up the threaded needle. Seeing what more he can coax out of you.
"I—" you cut yourself off.
"I am fine." Your tone is conclusive.
"Is that why you always sneak out of your royal residence in the middle of the night?" He pushes, a sarcastic lilt to his deep voice.
"That isn't any of your business!" You groan, "I'm not asking why it is you're a felon at sea, or your tragic past life that's lead you here, am I?"
"But you probably wonder..." he smirks, impartial to your jab.
"I don't, you ass!" You state defiantly.
"I'm just trying to gauge how much you actually like your homeland."
You scoff in disbelief, "Oh, piss off. You just want something to hold over me."
It's clear to him something much deeper is going on than what he initially thought. But its also evident that you are far from interested in talking about it now. So, he files away what information and suspicion he had, and finally allows the subject to change.
"Whatever princess... y'getting mouthy, and I've gathered that usually doesn't end well for either of us." he rolls his eyes in amusement, "You'll have to to tell me what kind of clothes you like, so I know what I'm in for."
"It only doesn't end well because you're so goddamn pushy." You huff.
"This is why you ended up locked in a cell for two days." his tone is airy, considering the topic, "Also, best of y'to recall I'm the one who decides whether or not ya coming off the ship tomorrow."
You hold back your bitter quip at his reminder, but not the deep sigh from your lungs. You feel stressed. Overwhelmed even. Which is the only good thing about your tiny room below deck, its stable. You know what you get down there. Yourself, and no personal questions that leave you reeling.
He finishes his double stitch in silence. Thinking of you, and wondering what exactly your perception of your home life is. In a long answer— not the short and guarded ones he's currently receiving.
You sit, still in the sun, but feeling significantly more riled up than earlier. That's when Harry stands from his work, and your eyes dart to the patch that's now one with the sail. Intricately sewed in place, with a clearly detail-oriented eye.
"An' she's done." He nods proudly, talking to himself as he picks the complete task up from where it was spread on the deck. Carrying it back into where it came from— along with the closed sewing kit. Laying it folded in the floor compartment and latching it closed.
His hands brush themselves off along his black pants. They admittedly fit him perfectly. Nipped in at his sculpted waist, and outlining his likely firm thighs.
His green eyes slanted down to you, as if he could feel your own gaze burning into his tanned skin. He smirks, a dimple popping out on his cheek as he looked at you.
He was trouble.
He looked at you like you were a game to be played. A challenge to be conquered. And somehow you met him right at that very level. You wanted to prove something to him— and the thing is, you don't even know what.
Its not something you can reverse, or take back. It's already long started, the second you pushed back from his demands when you first met.
His legs that you were just studying stride over to where you sit. He towers over you, examining you with a silent and smug smile.
"A corset, perhaps?" He proclaimed without context, and your face twists in confusion.
"Although, I've heard they are very hard to get on and off a woman." It clicks in your brain he's currently talking about you. Imagining you in the likes of a corset.
It's like he was pondering it aloud just for his own sick enjoyment, because he keeps going as your expression quickly bleeds into a scowl.
"And, there is no doubt in my mind you'd drive your own elbow into my stomach before you let me help lace you into a corset. Or out of it." His voice has dropped an octave, and his chocolatey hair has fallen over his forehead again. For such a heinous topic, he has the face of an angel. Maybe a fallen one... but an angel nonetheless.
"You would be correct." You confirm, "And I spend enough time in corsets at home. God forbid I wear one when theres no need for it."
He suddenly juts a hand out for you to take, which you stare at for an awfully long time, analysing the dark marks over his knuckles. Eventually settling to let him help you stand. It pulls you up effortlessly despite its visibly injury, and you feel the rough parts of his large hand as it cups yours.
"Espcially if im going to be laying around in a cell, whats the point in that?"
He still has grip on your hand, "Oh, dove, y'not going back down there for a little bit."
Your gaze narrows immediately. And you ask the first question and only question that makes sense in your mind.
"Who else is down there?"
"Someone who deserves to be left in the room with the cuff holders on the wall. Attached to them."
Your stomach sinks a little, recalling him saying thats sectioned off for people who have done truly bad things. Seems like it would explain his battered up knuckles perfectly.
But with the closest thing you’ve gotten to an answer all day, you’re quick to mentally move onto what the effects you the most.
"Where am i gonna..."
He says with a completely unfazed expression, "With me."
“With you?”
“That’s what I said, no?” He raises his brows, “unless you’d rather be down there with him. Who we’d then certainly have to kill once he knows you’re here.”
“Christ.” A wave of shock rocks through you at his vulgar wording, “can you put me nowhere else?”
“No.” He states, starting to walk with your hand gripped in his, “it’s just for the night. Don’t worry s’much.”
“Don’t worry? You just told me you would have to kill a man if I chose to stay away from you.”
You’re glaring at him as he holds open a door for you— one that leads to another kitchen room— despite you’re bitter look, he’s unbothered entirely.
“Let’s get you something to eat. Allow ya to process the fact you’re stuck with me for a night.”
———
Your night was significantly different to all the others you’d had on the ship this past week.
The evening had come on relatively quick. You’d sat above deck after he fed you some fruit, and watched the sun set as his crew gathered to share a pint.
You observed their dynamics, and the way a few men got themselves silly on one too many beers. Stumbling all over the deck.
Harry stayed closer to sober though—a bit tipsy, but nothing drastic— and as evening bleed into night, many of the boys had turned in for bed around midnight.
His blonde crew mate had shouted out for you to come down and have a pint, but you laughed it off. His drunken plea seeming far out of line considering the circumstances.
Not long after most of them had left, Harry came up to where you sat. You were perched atop a step on the stairs, and you know he’d been watching you. Making sure— as you stayed a fair distance away— that you didn’t disappear.
His hand had gestured out to you again as he had apparently come to collect you. You stood without it’s help, and he snorted a bitter laugh.
“You're infuriating, you know? Unbelievably so. And I feel it all the way in my stomach.” The lilt in his voice is intoxicating. He sounds like he disdains you, yet is addicted to the feeling all at the same time.
He’s standing the step below yours, and once you had fully straightened out, you were slightly above him. It almost gave you an added boost of confidence, “Right in here?”
Your hand reached out to breach the minimal distance, brushing your pointer and middle finger against where the skin of his stomach is.
His hand grabbed around your wrist, staring at you— he pressed your palm flat against his chest— you could feel the warmth of his skin beneath the sheer black blouse he was still in.
His bruised knuckles are pressed over yours. The dark spots a mosaic of blacks and blues— you wonder how bad it would hurt if you pressed down on them. Just out of spite, of course.
“Right there.” He affirmed.
“Too bad you have to room with me tonight.” You sigh in mock sympathy.
He looks like he’s about to say something else, when he bites his tongue and does his usual thing— tugging you along wherever he plans to go.
His leftover mates say goodnight as he walks past— all of them regarding you as well, surprisingly.
You’re lead to his quarters as you’d suspected, and you’re now faced with the situation of how this is going to all pan out.
Once inside the dark room, he lights a wall candle with a match— that he pulled from god knows where— casting the space in a golden glow.
He is quick to then shed the black material that’s covering his chest over himself without hesitation. Your gaze skates along the muscled skin of his back. Littered in black ink and scars that immediately piqued your curiosity. Ones that you undeniably want to trace over, and enquire how exactly they got there. Which feels like an odd thought to be entertaining considering how much you push to hate him.
His hands unlatch his belt, still adorning all its weapons. And he walks to the foot of his bed, laying it atop the cover.
“Would I be correct to assume I’m taking the floor?” You put forward, and his head turns over his shoulder.
“That one’s up t’you. Unless you’re that desperate to get away from me.” He drawls, the alcohol making him a tad drowsy now that the buzz has worn off.
A part of you begs to be stubborn. To say no. But the other half of you in rioting to lay down on a mattress for the first time in almost a week. Because you couldn’t physically sleep another night on the hard wooden floor.
You breathe outward, walking over in silence as you climb beneath his sheets without warrant.
He tries to ignores it, but a small smile breaks out over his lips before he can stop it. So he turns swiftly around, unzipping his black pants and shedding them off his long legs.
“What exactly are you doing?” You shrilly ask, palms ready to shield your eyes if he decides to strip the only remaining fabric below his laurel-adorning hips.
“You’re not sleeping naked next to me.” Certainty riddles your tone, and there is no way you’ll budge on it.
But to your statement he laughs, “M’not naked.”
“Not far off it either.” You murmur, observing as he walks over to the candle he not long lit and blows it out.
The room falls into darkness, all you can hear are the plodding of his feet on the wood floor.
Once he’s next to the bed, you hear his voice, “You’re on my side, by the way. S’budge up.”
You scoot over without words, and feel the mattress sink as his weight comes onto it.
“Better than the floor, no?” He asks quietly, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Undecided.” You whisper. “Comfier I suppose.”
His breath is quiet and consistent as you both fall quiet. You’re certain he falls asleep before you, because you’re awake for a while. Staring at the ceiling wondering how you got here yet again.
But eventually, the tiredness you’ve been feeling for the last couple days catches up on you, and it lulls you into a deep sleep. Unbroken from any uncomfortable surfaces or loud noises. Just peace.
Peace until you stir for the first time in the morning.
When soft light is shining through the circular windows, and you realise how truly warm you are. All the edges of your consciousness are blurred and hazy with your sleep induced state. You nestle into what you thought was the mattress, but register somewhere in your head that your body is pressed against someone.
And after that, it’s confirmed when they move. A slight roll, and a warm heavy arm that drapes over your waist, tugging you closer.
Your eyes dart open, and are met with the sideways view of a swallow on a collarbone. It stops you dead in your tracks. Because slowly you realise your plastered to someone's side. Harry's side. Legs thrown over his hips, head nestled into his neck.
You're frozen for a moment. Because he smells so nice. But alarm bells are sounding in your head. Too close to the enemy, they riot.
The rigidness of your body stirs him again, rolling him further into you. Legs intertwined, and the bridge of your nose bumping against the curve of his throat. Now he's truly swallowing up all your senses. His scent is genuinely intoxicating. Salty, just as you'd imagine a pirate would smell— of the ocean and all that lies beneath it. But it has a woodsy tone to it, deep and masculine. One you wonder how he just naturally carries.
His tattoos are gorgeous up close, chest chiseled and dusted with soft dark hairs. You use the finger that’s between your body and his to brush gently over the butterfly on his stomach. Tracing the details, despite how wrong it feels. In your moments of timid admiration, you don’t realise his eyes have opened. Green and glazed over with sleep, it takes him a solid minute to register what he's watching you do.
An intake of breathe, and his gravelly voice pressed out the only thing he can even think of saying, “g’morning.”
Physically, you flinch. Startled at his sudden consciousness. Finger withdrawing from its tender movements, your heart pounding.
“I— hello.” You whisper, unsure how long he’s been awake.
He stretches, which in turn scoots his body down the bed, leaving you face to face with him. A pink tongue juts out over his lips— wetting them.
“I should’ve established a no-cuddle policy.” You state, eyes wandering the plains of his face.
To this, his morning voice rumbles a laugh, “are you trying to blame me for this? ‘Cause you’re on m’side, touching up my chest, dove.”
You turn your head over your shoulder, glancing to the gap from where you originally feel asleep and where you are now. Red flushed over your face, It does look incriminating on your end.
A guilty sigh falls from your lips before you purse them together. Not having an explanation for how you ended up like this.
“S’okay.” His voice was so deep, and it sunk into your ears. Almost drawing a shiver out of you. It was attractive.
You can’t tell if that observation is coming only from the fact you have just spent a night curled into his chest. But it’s all you can think about.
“Didn’t mean to.” You say, the closest you were coming to an apology.
“Mmm, I bet.” He murmurs, his hand leaving from where it was on your waist and going to comb through his hair.
Perfectly tousled from sleep, he brushed through it with his fingers. You take the opportunity now that his hand has left your waist, to sit up, averting your eyes from the way his touch glides through his soft hair.
You look out the window, and immediately you’re shocked. You see land. Not even that far away.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“There’s land…”
“Ah,” he also props himself up with his elbows, “so there is.”
“Best we get ready.” He shrugs his bare shoulders, and you quickly jolt your head this way.
We?
He’s far from shy as he threw the covers off himself, with the daylight streaming through the windows, his whole body was on display.
You wondered if he realised the kind of body he had on him. Because undeniably, seeing him in just boxers makes your throat bob.
“Do you say we because you intend on taking me off the ship?” You ask, a silent plea behind your words.
“Tonight.” He states, glances back to see the palpable excitement spread over your face.
You rush out of bed, a sudden burst of energy at his confirmation. He is shocked as suddenly your arms collide with his bare waist.
“Thank you. Thank you.” You really are grateful, and you’re so desperate to get off this boat for a bit.
His lips part in surprise, “that’s… y’welcome?”
You hold him longer than you should, a part of you a little ashamed at your lack of self discipline. Because you should be able to contain yourself. You eventually pull yourself from him, smiling in a way he hasn’t seen before.
“We’re probably gonna dock in… 20 minutes? We’ll be gone for most of the day. I’ll come back and get you at evening.”
It sounded like a long time to wait. But you are sure you could do it. So you nod, enthusiastically.
You go and sit yourself on the edge of his bed, wondering where you’re going to end up— what the town will be like, where you’ll go— all while watching Harry go through his closet for an outfit.
It reminded you almost of how a royal would dress, particularly about what came out and what would go with what.
He stands with his back to you, still just in boxers. He has a nice ass.
You mentally scold yourself, yet unable to look away from him as he pulls a maroon pair of pants over his hips. They’re left unzipped as he gets a off-white linen shirt to tuck into them. However the shirt was left almost entirely unbuttoned. And his cross necklace sits between his pecs that are on full display.
He belts his weaponry around his waist, taking it off the wall from where they were hung. Odd of him to leave them so in the open, when you could’ve stabbed him in the night while he slept.
“Are you leaving me in here?” You ask, watching as he collects a few last minute things from around his room.
“S’long as you don’t trash the place.”
You think about teasing him, but decide not to risk it. You piss him off, then you’ll likely get put somewhere without anything to snoop around. And also miss out on getting off the ship tonight.
So you just nod. And at that, he’s satisfied.
“Well, m’off then. Don’t do anything stupid, Princess.” He raises his brows, face serious until it breaks into a small smile.
“I won’t.” You lie, because how are you meant to guarantee that.
He walks out, and obviously locks you in. You wait an hour, until you’ve been docked for a while before you start to dig around his room.
Not forgetting to take some time looking out the window to figure out where the hell you are in the world. Nothing was geographically giving it away, but once you saw a small fishing cart on the pier, you read Sintir fishery.
Sintir is so far away from your homeland, you let out an audible gasp when you read it. There’s no fucking way, you’d thought.
But as you walk away from the window, you register that it has technically been a week since you’d been taken.
You ponder it as you start to go through his things. You feel like some kind of home invader. Rummaging through a trunk under his bed, raiding draws, and flicking through his racks of clothes. Digging into pockets as though you were waiting to happen upon something of value.
It turned out to be the smartest places you looked, because in a thick raincoat, you fucking found it.
A key. One he has to have forgotten about, since there’s no way in the world he’s left you in here without being certain there’s no way to get out.
You ran to the door of his room, and held your breath as the sharp metal got pushed into the lock by your eager hands.
You turned it, jostling it a bit. And it clicked.
Quietly, you reach for the handle, gently pulling it down and breathing out as the door unlatches.
There’s no time to wait as you slink outside. Clicking it shut, and slowly trying to recall your way back down to the chambers.
Every noise has you on edge, and you’re terrified to get caught. Waiting to turn a corner and one of his crew mates to be there, catching you in the act. But it’s not enough to stop you. You may have made a few wrong turns, but you end up in a hallway that jogs your memory.
You make your way down the stairs to the cells, unable to keep your footsteps entirely quiet. It’s without warning you realise the space down there is in fact still occupied by someone… just like you’d initially feared.
You’re met with a guttural groan, and suddenly your anxiety nearly triples. It’s masculine— and when you reach the bottom of the stairs, still out of view from the cell door— you can confirm it when the voice echoes out from the dim room.
“Let me out, you… you fuckin’ bastards.” Whoever it is sounds exhausted, like they’ve been teetering on the edges of life or death for hours.
When you don’t reply he lets out a wet and chesty cough as he continues, “I don’t care about tha’ whore no more! The princess means nothing to me.”
Your heart is racing at the mention of yourself, and the man sounds like he’s dying. It’s certain in your mind now this man’s face was probably what caused the bruising on Harrys fist.
A heavy bang comes from his cell, sounding like metal cuffs being slammed against a wall.
His speech turns to slur as you slowly back yourself back up the stairs. Curiosity always kills the cat, you think. And you wished you’d stayed in Harry’s room.
“Or jus’ kill me already!” He begs, tone shaking with exhausted rage, “already beat me to a pulp after I called that royal a good f’nothing slut. S’cmon!”
That was your cue to leave, and as you break off into a near run down the halls, you’re shaking the whole time.
Yet somehow, despite what anyone would’ve expected, you made it back to Captains quarters without a single run in. Not a soul knows you found a key.
You slide down the relocked door once you’re inside, and pant with not only the physical exertion, but the anxiety you just put yourself under.
It takes a fair while before you can move again, but your hands skate along the floorboards beneath you, tracing the wood grains to calm down.
Rising, you go back to his closet to put the small key back exactly where you found it. Not taking chances in trying to harbour it for yourself.
The room is deafeningly quiet, it forces your mind to hear the likely dying man’s words on repeat. And wonder if Harry really punched the man because he called you a slut…
The only person that knows is him.
He only knows that the second that sack of shit opened his mouth and said the only thing you’d be good for is ‘a quick fuck and some gold’ he absolutely lost it.
He only knows the feeling of pure, red-hot anger that took over him until he slammed the side of his fist into the slimy man’s face. More than once. He’s not sure how many times, until it was bloody, and until his knuckles already had a bruise festering below the skin— darkening by the minute.
And god, can he not stop thinking about how it made him feel. It was all consuming. It solidified that you were not going back down into the cells. He would rather have you in his own bed than within a 5 metre radius of that scum.
So as he walks through the town, splitting off from his crew to go by you clothes, he realises that you’re making more of an impression on him than he thought.
And while he piles up half a wardrobe for you, not even worrying about how much it’ll all add up to, he clocks just how… infatuated he’s possibly become with you.
Just how he’s suddenly ended up in this position. Where he hates you, yet wants to protect you— and even sometimes dote on you.
God— It’s dangerous.
That feeling that lingers when he thinks about you. Both a good and a bad one.
You were dangerous for him… and he’s still trying to decide how much, and in what way. But the biggest thing, is he’s worried for when he finds out.
Whether it’s going to be when you stab him in the back— either metaphorically or physically— or when you trace your delicate touch over his bare chest, so gently his mental resolve cracks along with the walls guarding his heart.
His conclusion as he checks out with a plethora of clothes for you, you’re either going to kill him, or he’s going to end up killing for you.
Oh, and that he’s certain he wants to kiss you. But that’s a whole other thing he has to mentally unpack.
———
taglist:
@saturnheartz @slap-me-harry @ilovehsstuff @ameerakane20 @matildasatellite @harrysslut7 @sunflowersey @styleswiftie @anotheryoutubefanpage @straightontilmornin
thank you everyone for your undying support, you are all the best!! i love you
comment or reach out to be added to taglist—🤍
i really hope you guys enjoyed this part since i have rewrote it and reread it that many times i seriously have no idea if it’s any good HAHA
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eveningepiphany · 5 months
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Hi! Is there any update on the release date for the next chapter of pirates gold at all? No pressure I just loved it loads!! Cannot wait for the next part
hi my love, she is in the works right now! thank you so much for your support as well!
I’ve been so busy lately and swear I haven’t had any time to just sit down and write, but I promise she will be out soon. lmk if you want to be on the taglist so you’re notified when it’s out💓💓
It will be within this week im hoping x
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eveningepiphany · 5 months
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pirates gold, masterlist——✶
↳ pirate!harry x royal!reader
series summary: being a royal, you always knew you were meant to keep your wits about you. despite never fitting into your status, a lapse of your judgement leads you to getting taken captive by a group of pirates, and their captain, harry.
series warnings: getting captured by pirates, descriptions and talk of kidnapping, mentions of weapons and death, violent and heavy themes, alcohol, sexual tension, swearing, enemies to lovers. there will be smut!!
all parts will have individual warnings as we go
——✶——
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↳[PART ONE]
published!
after you’re taken captive, you wake in a cell, and are trying to gauge exactly how much danger you’re really in being stuck on this ship.
❝Nice to see you’re awake, princess. Can you open up them eyes for me?❞
harry is a stubborn— but awfully attractive— captain. you are an equally stubborn prisoner. the two of you are very quickly figuring out just how far you’re willing go to get out of this situation.
——✶——
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↳[PART TWO]
published!
challengers are arising as life on the ship continues. not only that, but all kinds of tension is building between you and harry. good and bad… and something that feels forbidden to even entertain in your minds eye.
❝You’re infuriating, you know? Unbelievably so. And I feel it all the way in my stomach.❞
yet somehow through all of this, you unexpectedly find a glimmer of hope. just not how you thought you would.
——✶——
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↳[PART THREE]
published!
finally, a break from the ship is in sight. you and harry end up in a very pirate-y bar, but even a good night can’t last forever. and seemingly, neither can uncomplicated feelings.
“Does that scare you?” He asks, and then asks deeper, “Do I scare you?”
jealousy, protectiveness and a sense of undeniable wanting are no such feelings harry wants to have for someone he’s holding captive. yet he’s stuck with them nonetheless.
——✶——
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↳[PART FOUR]
to be published!
summary is to be developed and written out. but this will be updated when it’s in production <3
I look forward to seeing how you all like this series! and thank you again from the bottom of my heart for your never ending support.
——✶——
to be added to the taglist, let me know in the replies and you’ll be tagged in ever part uploaded of this series in the future🤍
you can find my full masterlist here!
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eveningepiphany · 5 months
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pirates gold | H.S series, part one
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my masterlist <3
summary: being a royal, you always knew you were meant to keep your wits about you. despite never fitting into your status, a lapse of your judgement leads you to getting taken captive by a group of pirates, and their captain, Harry.
warnings: getting captured by pirates—a very hot crew of them! description of kidnapping (not severely violent), mentions of weapons and death, violent and heavy themes, held for ransom money, sexual tension, swearing.
+ smut will be in this series
a/n: happy halloween my lovely friends, this gif has inspired a whole ass series. buckle up because piraterry is here.
———
You used to think of yourself as a rather switched on person.
Someone who had a gut instinct that could save their life. Who could detect a dangerous person or situation before it actually happened.
Or at least you had no other reason to believe otherwise. That was until you landed yourself here.
First of all, let’s establish that you had done this multiple other times. No issues arisen.
Maybe it was irresponsible, going out long after sundown, and once the villages night life has quietened down as much as possible. But you’d done it countless times before without issue.
It was almost a routine thing. Going out at least twice a week to just feel like you had an once of independence to your name.
Being a part of the Royal Court came with too much responsibility during the day. And you always felt impartial to the fact you had— as many people proclaimed— royalty in your blood.
Not only was the idea of being a possible heir to the throne a burden to you, but so was the concept of just being looped into the whole scheme. There’s no denying how lucky you were to have so much wealth under your belt, that a roof was over your head, and dinner was always on the table. But however lavish the lifestyle, you felt like a jailed bird.
You could not scratch, cry or plead your way out of this cruel world. Filled with so many deceitful people, and family who claimed they wanted what was best for you— but continue to shove you into the box of being a possible heiress, without care of what you want.
You hate to sound ungrateful, that is the last thing you would want to seem. But this was the last kind of life you would have ever chosen for yourself. And you don’t think it’s unreasonable to admit that to yourself at the very least.
The fact was, all that ever came with it was drama, and sheer amounts of stress. Which is why you distanced yourself from it as much as humanly possible.
Hence how you ended up walking through the ‘empty’ streets of your village, Kelna, almost every other night. Only they weren’t actually as empty as you had thought this particular night.
You wish you could say you heard someone coming, or that you felt something off. But you didn’t.
You had not a clue in the world that as you stalked through the dim backstreets, you were being followed. And you realised too late to do anything, except release a muffled yelp into the hand that got slapped over your mouth.
A scuffle ensues— you’d be damned if you were going down without trying to fight— but it was too easily shut down by a yank into a hard chest, and a tight, muscly set of arms holding you into place. A deep grunt came from the man behind you, who you still haven’t seen the face of, “Hold on love, this won’t hurt.” Which the voice was rich and masculine.
Your whole body was struggling against this guys vice-like hold. Trying desperately to escape it, or wait for it to falter, but the moment just wasn’t presenting itself. Not even when he switched hands, and a cloth got placed over your mouth. One you writhed against, attempting to kick him, scratch him, or elbow him.
A drowsiness started to wash over you as you breathed in some harsh smelling chemical, and you feared that this might actually kill you.
It didn’t hurt… but you were petrified.
Slowly you got lowered to the cold cobble-lined path, and this was the last clear thing you remember seeing before your vision blacked out.
And it was the weirdest kind of darkness ever. Not like falling asleep or passing out. The edges were blurred as you slipped into the black behind your eyes. It was accented with random sounds you heard, ones that floated around the blank confines of your head. And somewhere inside of you begged to make sense of the textures that rippled across your skin every now and again.
This lasted until it just suddenly… stopped. Your mind and body became void of any kind of awareness. And that didn’t recede until you woke up about an hour ago, with no clue how long it had been or where the fuck you even were. Your regained consciousness slowly came back over you, like the rising of a tide. You were able to acknowledged the cool, worn-out pillow pressed under your cheek. And the hardness of whatever you laid atop of.
And after what felt like years of laying there, you finally felt the swaying. Up, and down. Up, and down. It was constant, and it didn’t falter. This was what prompted the peeling open of your eyes.
They stung even with the dim lighting, and they were awfully dry. You had to blink a few times to properly take in what you were looking at.
A dim, boxy room, all made of wood. You went to sit upright, but were met with the resistance of your hands and feet.
That was when you were hit with a stark realisation.
They were fucking bound. A thick rope knotted around them both.
It came as a slap in the face, you were on a boat. A fucking ship by the sounds of it. And that can only mean one of few things.
You manoeuvre so you could slowly sit up— a dull ache pulled in your muscles as you did— and your eyes trailed over the sheet and limp pillow you had been curled up on. You were still dressed in the same loose pants and shirt as when you’d been captured, however they were significantly dirtier.
A small window was also perched high up on the wall, letting a bit of sunlight into the dusty room, highlighting the door across from you. Locked, of course.
You couldn’t even stand up to attempt to look out the window. So you had to sit there.
A part of you thought to start yelling for some kind of help, but there was a great chance whatever is out there is best to stay out. And alone in here is going to be the most peaceful option.
You could have sat there for maybe 15 minutes or 2 hours, it was hard to say with such a foggy mind. But a startle came to you as the lock at the door started to shake with movement.
Sent into an overdrive of anxiety, you couldn’t decide whether to stay upright, or lay back down and pretend to be out cold again.
And you didn’t get a chance to make the decision before the wooden door was pushed open.
The person walking in would have seen you the most vulnerable you probably ever have been, your knees tucked to your chest, hands sandwiched between your stomach and thighs, eyes screwed shut in fear.
This was an anxiety you have never ever felt. Not in the years of getting called to answer in the court meetings, or the months you spent learning how to spar with your mentor Salo, or in the days leading up to your induction into the official royal circle. Another second sitting with this feeling, and you just might’ve thrown up.
“Oi, love, y’alright?” A thick foreign accent asked, masked with the tone of pirate. However, it wasn’t harsh, or angry as you’d expected.
It was rather… gentle?
You still couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes, so you just nodded, your throat tight with your emotion.
The sound of heavy boots rattled across the decking, and the voice was suddenly beside you. “Nice to see you’re awake, princess. Can you open up them eyes for me?”
A rough hand tapped on your leg, and it easily got you to snap your gaze open.
A very tan hand was retracting from your body, and your eyes trailed up the arm infront of you, which was visibly littered in dark tattoos beneath the sheer white long sleeve that was over them. Between it’s deep V cut sat defined pectoral muscles, and a cross pendant hung by a necklace. Your staring lead all the way to the face of the man in front of you.
It would be easy to say he was just… a pirate. But that would not do him the justice that was deserved for the way he looked. His structure was almost cut with diamonds, everything chiseled and sharp. His hair was tousled and wavy, chocolatey in colour, but it was clear how much time it spent under the sun as it was almost highlighted with a caramel shade. His face was filled out with cupids bow lips that somehow looked soft as ever, and a pair of emeraldy eyes that were staring right at you.
“Good. Thought ya had gotten sea sick.” He teased with a smirk, the last comment coming out as almost sarcastic.
Despite his teasing attitude you’re still incredibly wary. Unsure how to take the glimmer in his mosaic green eyes.
He watches your gaze flit anxiously around the room, and to the door that is still left hanging open. If you weren’t bound, your instincts probably would have sent you running out it regardless of how stupid an idea it was.
“Ah, you’re a quiet one, I see.” He states, cocking his brow.
“I…” your throat was dry, and the words are stuck. You swallow, forcing your syllables out harshly, “what the fuck, am I doing here?”
At your venomous tone, he merely curls his mouth into a smirk, “There we go, knew you’d come around pretty quick, princess.”
You scowl, now suddenly the amount of frustration coming over you was unfathomable. And although you’re utterly exhausted, if you had a free hand, you’d slap it with all your might into the side of his sculpted face.
This anger seemed to bubble out of nowhere. Considering how shy you seemed only moments ago.
“Let me go!” You whack your tied hands down onto the sheet-covered wood, a loud bang echoing through the room.
At this he shrugs, “Well, if y’didn’t look like you were about to either attack me the second y’hands were free, or take off flying out that door to go pitch yourself off my ship, I might’ve considered it.”
He doesn’t let you hiss out an angry retort, he just presses his weight down on one of his knees next to you, using a hand to grab the rope between your wrists and press it down tight to the floor. You watch with suddenly widened eyes as he unsheathes a dagger from his rustic utility belt.
The belt had an array of weaponry in it, the largest one on the left of his hip, a curved sword in its scabbard.
“Wait— please don’t—“ your heart is banging against the confines of your chest, terrified he’s about to start mutilating your goddamn hand.
He leans closer, “Fuckin’ hell, I’m not gonna stab you! Stay still, okay.”
Considering he’s got a dagger clutched in his hand, you oblige to his demand, staying deathly still. Your lungs even holding their place as he takes the blade to the rope around your ankles, hooking the sharp edge into it.
He saws through your bound, and the tightness around your feet finally falling loose. You stay still regardless though, waiting until the knife makes it’s way back into its sheath before you stretch your legs out.
They quiver and shake as the muscles unwind themselves with your extension of them. Your head throws back with a groan at the feeling.
His hand stays wrapped around the bound at your wrist, “Reckon you can stand?”
“I— what?”
“Can you stand up?” He reiterates, confused at your own misunderstanding.
You glance back down to your legs, and unintentionally sounding more unsure than you were meant to, you reply, “I think…”
He mutters out an ‘alright’, hooking his free arm under yours, letting you rearrange yourself to stand up. Your legs do feel weak, and he has to help pull you most of the way up.
They feel even weirder with the constant swaying of the boat, and your hands are clutching the muscle of his arm tight as you stable yourself.
“I’m Harry, by the way.” He nods, a snide smile showing a peak of his pearly white teeth, “Captain of the ship you’ve found yourself on.”
“Found myself on.” You mock with a sneer, the words coming out before you can stop them. You were bitter. He notes how confident you seem in expressing that when a dagger isn’t pointed at you.
A snarky laugh barks from his mouth, and he steps away enough that you can’t keep holding onto him for balance— leaving only his hand around the rope at your wrist.
You have to actively tense your legs so you don’t fall as he suddenly moves away, “y’have an awful mouth on ya.”
“Very bratty, I think, Y/N.” He scoffs, suddenly staring to walk with his hand around your bounding.
His knowledge of your name shouldn’t shock you, yet it does. Especially considering the title behind your name is likely playing a huge role in why you’re here.
Pirates hate royal blood. And you’re fucking filled with it.
You near stumble the way out of the room you just spent god knows how many days in.
“How long has it been?” You ask, looking around the hallway you’re in now, it’s fairly bland and small. There’s another room that was across from yours, however it was much more intimidating.
It was enclosed by a heavy barred door, and had cuff holders on the wall. You swallowed and peeled your eyes away. But he watched the anxiety ripple over you after you saw the room.
“Don’t look so worried, not gonna put ya in there, dove. Tha’s for real bad people.” He affirms, but your trust in him is slim.
He swiftly responds to your question as you walk up a set of stairs, “You we’re out for ‘bout a day and a bit.”
“Okay.” You sigh. Following carefully behind him up the stairs, and trying to remember the twists and turns you were taking through the ship.
Passing through rooms dedicated for storage, some that looked like hallways of sleeping quarters, and even a swords room.
You bump into someone on the way to wherever you were headed. A crew mate presumably, out the front of a hallway filled with barrels. He had ruffled, feathery brown hair, and piercing blue eyes, “Good morning princess, nice to see ya awake.”
You nod slowly at his comment, trying to gauge just how sarcastic he’s actually being, or if he’s not at all.
“She’s a bit temperamental, lou. Still haven’t figured out if she’ll actually bite though.” Harry waves a hand at him, popping a cheeky smile and continues practically walking you around the ship like you’re his damn pet.
“What are we doing?” You sigh, as you end up in some kind of kitchen-like area. It has the basics, like rustic wooden cupboards, a wood-stove, and barrels bolted into the floor with presumably foods in them.
“Getting you some water and something to eat.” He says, like it’s obvious.
You expected to be just kept in that tiny cell, and you can’t understand why you’re being almost… dotted on. Considering the circumstances anyway.
He grabs a cup for you from a box in a locked cupboard, filling it with water out of a tapped-barrel. Bringing it up to your lips himself, since it’s easier than you using your hands.
It’s pathetic the way you take it from him without hesitation, so thirsty that you don’t care he’s treating you like a helpless little bird.
He watches you swallow up the whole cup of water, lips clasped around the rim of it, gulping the liquid back like you’d just run a marathon.
It quickly makes you feel better, and adds moisture to your throat and mouth.
“Do ya want some fruit?” He asks, once you’re done.
“Why are you…” you shake your head, because it’s irrelevant why he’s treating you this way, you need to take the mere amount of kindness he’s offering while it lasts.
“Yes, please.”
Still holding onto you, he pops the lid of another barrel, pulling out an apple and chucking it on the bench in front of you. Grabbing his dagger out and cutting it into slices.
“You have a lot of questions,” he says, pushing the scraps away from the slices with the blade of his knife.
“I didn’t ask anything.” You frown, because you hadn’t even asked a question. You were stood quietly beside him as you watched him cut up the red apple.
“You didn’t. But I can hear y’mind ticking from ‘ere.” He comments, turning to feed you an apple piece. You ignore the oddness of the situation, the fact you’re being hand feed for the first time since you were a child.
You crunch on it, glad it’s providing you a sliver of time to figure out what to say to that.
“Well,” You start after you swallowed the food, a sigh breathing from your nose, “I obviously have a lot of questions. From what I’ve seemingly pieced together, I’ve just been kidnapped onto a ship filled with… with pirates.”
You have a mental flashback to getting grabbed in that backstreet— probably only a mere day ago now, but it felt like a lifetime away. It nearly makes you shudder.
“And although I’ve never been in such a situation, I’d figured at the very least I would be bound in chains and left in that cellar until you finished me off, once I’d carried out my intended purpose, of course.” You’d scoffed.
A moment of silence stretches as he studies you, “We are pirates, but we’re not bloody animals. Unless you’d like to be tied with chains?”
“I— of course I don’t! I’m just confused, and you’re being rather courteous all things considered, so I just—“
He buts in, “Has anyone ever commented on how posh ya sound?”
You frown in shock, the sudden switch in topic giving you whiplash, “What?”
“You’re just very sophisticated.” He comments, bringing another apple piece to pass between your lips.
Chewing, you frown. He doesn’t say anything more as he keeps feeding you until you’ve finished all but the core of the apple.
“I’m not posh.” You say, quietly.
“Compared t’my crew.” He suggests, discarding the scraps and starting to walk over to a set of stairs.
You’re obligated by his hand between your wrists to walk with him.
Unlatching a hatch at the top, a stream of sunlight gets shone in through the opening. And you make your way up to the main deck of the ship.
It’s got a fair few men on it, out at work on… whatever it is that pirates do. And they glance over at the arrival of their captain from the lower cabins. Sending a few nods and waves his way— and others stopping to stare at you
You look out at the crystal blue water, you had never seen it like this… because you’d never been on a boat. It was as far as the eye could see, and there was not a speck of land in sight.
No land… and this immediately raises a hundred other red flags for you. And it brings your attention back onto what you’re actually doing here. You can’t even fathom how many terrible possibilities there are. Are you getting sold off as some kind of… slave? Or tortured for information on the Royal Courts business?
“Jesus Christ— Where are we?” You’re so pissed right now. And the anxiety is only fuelling it.
At your shrill voice, a few men have stopped their jobs to chuckle at the ever-impending altercation. A blonde lad yells from where he was previously re-nailing some parts of the decking, “Middle of the ocean lovie, most serene place ya’ll ever see.”
You wish you could just succumb to whatever it is going on. But it seems you can only force yourself to do that when someone has a knife unsheathed in front of you.
“I’m royalty, and you know that people will be searching for me high and low back on the mainland. And very soon they’ll be sending out ships! So why in hells name are you trying to get away with this?” You spit, and it’s easily the first time you’ve ever tried to use your bloodline against someone.
“Tha’ means nothin’ round here, darling. Jus’ that ya worth good coin.” Harry looks almost bemused at your shouting. But you’re beginning to feel like you actually are being trafficked across the ocean, and that whatever fate awaits you is certainly cruel as you could imagine…
“What does that even— where are you taking me!”
Another bloke pipped up with a laugh as he walked past, hands full with a pile of rope, “We’d have to kill ya if we told ya that.”
“What the fuck—“
“Oh shut up, Tanner.” Harry rolls his eyes now, because he sees in your face how seriously you just took his crew mates tease. The fun is over, and now he’s got to try and defuse the situation.
Your fight or flight has well and truly kicked in now. Because they’re pirates. They do dirty business, and you’re not about to get caught in some sadistic trade. You’d rather be fucking dead then wind up wherever they’re taking you.
You tug your roped wrists from Harry’s hand before he can even open his mouth, shocked a little that you even managed to break through the hold he had on them. And you don���t even think before tearing off into a sprint down the far end of the ship.
“Oi styles, ya got a runner!” Someone shouts out with a bellowing laugh, but obviously he’s already trailing behind you.
Your previously weak legs have switched into gear, sending you hurtling along the decking of the ship. They still ache, but it’s hardly in the forefront of your mind.
You struggle to hold balance with tied wrists and the rise and fall of the boat, trying your best not to slip before you get to the stern of the ship.
No one else is taking it seriously that you’re running like a bat out of hell across the ship, all the men seem to be laughing at your antics. Unbelieving that you’d actually hurtle yourself off it.
Even Harry had some doubt that you’d actually follow through with something like that. Since he’s pretty sure you’ve probably never even swam in the ocean. And because, well… you’re a princess. Figuratively and literally in his eyes.
He still was obviously chasing after you, but without as much urgency as he should have. However, it got quickly serious as you weren’t showing signs of slowing down as you approached the end of the stern.
And with a final anxious breath, you managed to kick both your legs over the railing, and without looking back, you plunge off into the blue water beneath the ship.
“Oh fuck!” Harry yelled in a curse, immediately kicking free of his shoes and shucking off his belt that held all his weapons. Leaving them in the sun on the deck.
“Slow the ship boys! She’s thrown herself overboard, and I’m going in!” He shouts to the crew, before wasting no time to dive off the end of the stern as well. His sailor, Liam, already ordering to slow the ship and turn her sideways so the bowline rope can be thrown down from its place to retrieve his captain.
In the water, you’re struggling to stay afloat, legs kicking hard to try and make up for the missing help of two free arms. But it was hardly enough, because soon you were slipping under the water, and despite that being your intention, your body’s response to keep yourself alive couldn’t be controlled. And all you could focus on was getting air. The idea of staying down here till your demise left the confines of your brain the second you impacted the water.
It actually wasn’t that cold in comparison to what you thought it would be. But being on the rather tropical side of the globe was helpful when it came to that.
Harry was a strong swimmer, of course, and he easily made it over to where the waves were knocking you around. How you were still alive with your bound arms and weak body is a bit baffling to him.
His white sheer long sleeve was clung to his chest, his black tattoos on clear display, and hair dripping with the salty sea water as he grabbed you by the waist.
You gasped as you managed to get a full breath of air into your lungs, clinging to his side despite him being the whole reason you ended up down here.
“Bloody fuck, Y/N! You’re insane.” He scoffs, pushing the wet hair from your face.
You croaked out in anxious defiance, “I don’t want to go back on the ship!”
Since it had already turned around, and slowed to a float as the anchor was dropped, and rope was tossed out to you both from the men on deck.
“Oh, so you’re saying I just leave you out here to drown? Because the way you’re clinging onto me suggests otherwise.”
“I’d rather be dead than end up wherever you’re taking me.” You hiss out.
“God—“ he sighs, “I fuckin’ promise you we’re not taking you anywhere, or selling you off, or whatever it is you think.”
“Why would I ever believe that?”
“Because you said it yourself how many people are looking for you! You’re ransom money on a stick, dove.” He paddles you both to the rope that got tossed out.
The sun was shining harshly on you both. But his tan skin glimmered underneath it in a way that near captivated you as he reached for the bowline, one large hand wrapped around the rope and the other holding you to his side.
“You don’t have to go tryna’ drown yourself. Just come on the main deck and we can have a bloody conversation.” He huffs out, watching his crew pull the both of you into the side of the ship.
The rope toes you through the water, and you feel both a mix of gratitude and uneasiness at the prospect of going back on the boat.
Once at the side of the vessel, you watch quietly the waves that kiss up against the side of it. A long rope net getting thrown down for the two of you to climb up.
“Now, are you coming back up, or not?” He makes sure to leave it as a choice, because he knows for a fact what option you’re going to pick.
Or well, he thinks he does anyway. Since he didn’t really expect you to jump off the back of the fucking ship, but here he was.
Your head nods itself without you even thinking. If only you had the audacity to say no, and fight to stay down here. But your body is clearly making the life or death decision for you.
“Good girl. Now hold onto—“ he remembers you’re still tied up before he even finished his sentence, “ah, fuck sake.”
“Put y’legs around me for a sec,” he loops a hand into the net to hold himself up, watching you oblige to his ask. Moving your body between him and the rope ladder.
Your legs wrap around his waist with some hesitancy, and he leans forward so your back is pressed to the boats wooden hull.
He attempts to focus on the job at hand rather than the fact he’s got you wrapped around his waist.
Several whoops and cheers erupt from the deck above as they watch. The sight probably seeming a bit suggestive.
“Oh shut up,” he mutters under his own breath, bringing your hands up from where they clutched his soaked shirt beneath the water. All while pressing you into the panels behind your back, which were helping him hold you up so he could keep you— and your hands— above water.
The conjunction of your bodies was mostly hidden by the lapping waves, but occasionally they would dip down just enough you caught a glimpse of his abdomen being held flush between your legs. You’re not sure if he is paying any notice to it while his rough fingers dig into the knot that held your palms together. Complaints huffing from his lips about the fact his daggers were still on the ship.
Your body and face flushed, the contact between the practical stranger messing with your head. Leaving you frazzled in a way you never have been before.
Eventually he loosens the knot with a grunt, and your wrists are free. You stifle the groan of relief that urges to come from you.
“Right,” He clears his throat, “Turn around and you can go up.”
You nodded, just obliging to put some distance between the two of you. The only positive coming from this is you feel a lot cleaner after being in the water.
You clamber up the makeshift rope ladder, struggling more than you’d like to admit, given the shake that had almost consumed your limbs. Once up to the deck, some of the men help pull you all the way onto it. You break away from their hands quickly as possible and advert your eyes from them.
Walking a few steps away from the group, you’re grateful none of them have re-tied you up— and you slump onto the warm wooden panelling of the main deck, letting out an exhausted cough.
Harry was up shortly after you, clothes clung to his body as his crew patted him on the back. A murmur of suggestive innuendos your glad you can’t entirely hear get dished out by them, and he quickly shoved them off.
“Piss off ya slackers, go back to work and get the ship back moving before we end up having a run in.” He orders.
The guy from below deck earlier walks over to where you lay, “Ay las, cmon. Let me check you over.”
“‘M Louis,” he says as you sit up for him, and he presses his fingers against your pulse point on your neck— and seemingly carries out an entire medical exam with the palms of his hands.
“Thanks.” You mutter, and he nods.
“Ya right, love. Just don’t go jumping off ship again anytime soon, ‘kay?” He chuckles, all light hearted.
“I wont.” You give an exhausted, tight lipped smile.
“Righto, cap, all yours.” He rises, head gesturing over to you as he walks past.
Harry pats his shoulder in wordless thanks, walking over to where you were sat.
His body was truly saturated, hair dripping with the sea water. Black pants washed off of all the dust they had on them earlier, and must be hanging heavy on his legs from the water. But you didn’t want to stare for any longer as you unwittingly took in little details about him. So you avert your gaze, not really wanting to deal with any of this right now.
Contrary to what you thought he’d do, he flops down next to you. Body laid against the deck with a huff.
“Moments like this i wish I were an asshole.” He comments, and you frown.
“What does that even—“
“Are you serious about not doing that again? Because I don’t think I particularly wanna be jumping off this boat again any time soon.” He complains, interjecting your question.
“No, that was fucked.” You sigh, still sounding a little wheezy after the water you ended up practicality eating down there.
He laughs suddenly at your language, “How do you get away with having a mouth back home?”
“Long story.” You shrug.
“Part of me is thinkin’ we got the wrong girl.” He jokes, glancing over to you, white teeth peeking through his smile.
The two of you lay in the sun to dry out a bit, and you try to fight off the urge to ask more questions. You’re pretty sure that’s all you’ve done since you woke up.
And it’s all you want to do. Ask, ask, ask. But in such a situation, it’s hard not to.
“Are you going to tie me back up?” You eventually cave to the mental war being waged with yourself. Because you were a bit worried that after voluntarily jumping overboard, you would have more than just rope around your wrists.
“Cant tell if you’re asking me to tie you up or not.” He states with a smirk, and it seems rude jokes are a staple around this ship.
You try not to flush at his words, “That is— Ew…”
“Ah, figured you’d be a bit prudish. Makes it all the more fun to joke about it, really.” He sits himself up, eyes drawn into a squint as the sun sits in the peak of the sky.
“And t’answer that, I’m actually not sure.” He gives a shrug, moving to turn his green gaze to you.
As if looking for your opinion on the matter. You’re at a loss for what to even say to that.
“Every time you open your mouth, I’m seemingly left with more and more questions.” You settle on saying, carefully pulling yourself to sit up as well.
“Earlier I had the intent of probably jus’ untying you and having someone with you at all times. But ya just tried to kill yourself, essentially. So imma bit stuck with that one.” He explains, calmly, almost organising his thoughts aloud. Staring off into the horizon, somewhere between where the water meets the skyline.
“Like, someone from… here. Watching me?”
“Obviously from here, where else?” He mocks, hand outstretched as he talked with them. You took small note of the cross he had tattooed on one of them.
However, you quickly make to glare at him and his taunt. And you can’t help but feel uncomfortable with the idea of being watched over by god knows what pirate on this ship.
Because although Harry has seemingly been opposed to harming you, there’s no guarantee that mindset his applied to all the other men here.
“And it cant be me babysitting ya. I’ve got a ship to run.” He clarifies your fear so nonchalantly.
At your increasingly tense silence, he pauses to watch your expression. And it clicks why you look so anxious.
“We’re not going to— my god— did you think we’d hurt you?” A laugh comes from his chest.
“Is that so unreasonable?” You sneered, feeling somehow embarrassed from the way he laughs at you.
“Us pirates may be scum on the bottom of your shoe, but I assure you my men would never lay a hand on you.” He clarifies, quickly correcting his tone to give you a more genuine approach.
He knows all of those men like they’re his brothers— and although they might be crude, and a little temperamental— he truly believes none of them would hurt you.
But he can understand that they’re merely strangers to you. And that you were likely raised with the belief that pirates are like the rabid dogs on the street. It’s normal for your instincts to be telling you that these men— including himself— would be inclined to do horrible things to you.
Because in most other situations, you’d be right. Everything you’d been bought up to believe would be correct. Because there are many crews he’s met over his years of being a pirate that are every bit of the stereotype you have built up in your head.
And at that, his heart does ache for you a little. Something he’s foreign to feeling for captives on his ship. Since usually they’re all awful people.
But the fact you were scared, in that innocent sort of way, suddenly urges him to reassure you the best he can.
“And if they did… they’d lose that hand shortly after. Along with other extremities if it came down to that.” He says, firmly, meaning every word.
You lock eyes, his expression is serious. You struggle with whether or not to believe what he says. And you feel like you should know better than to trust someone known for deceit.
“Pretty hard to trust that considering you drugged me and kidnapped me a day ago.” Disdain was laced in your voice as you spoke.
He sighs through his nose, hand coming up to scrape down his face. He can’t fault you for that, “Won’t argue tha’ point.”
“And considering I still have hardly a clue what you have planned for me here...” You bring up, raising your brows at him, expectant of an answer.
“We’re holding you ransom, as I said earlier. Waitin’ til we can forge a deal with the Kelna Royal Court for some good money. ‘N before ya ask me how long it’s gonna take, I don’t even know myself.”
“Right. And why do you need the money?” You quiz.
To that he chuckles, “You have all the stereotypes for a pirate down, and you just asked me why we need the money?”
“Outside of the fact you’re just a money hungry pig!”
“Y’can’t really call us that when your so called ‘court’ is the socially-elite equivalent.”
You groan at his constant digs, rising from your feet to pace the deck.
“Don’t go jumping off the bloody ship!” He jokingly waves his hands in faux fear.
“You’re an ass. A complete and utter asshole. Put me back in the fucking jail cell you have if you’re going to just mock me.”
To this he scoffs at you, concluding that you have the temper of a child, “Fine then, saves me having to make one of my crew watch you.”
He says it, but behind his words lingers a challenge. Silently testing to see if you’ll cave, and beg for a sort of forgiveness or leniency now that he’s threatening something.
You’ve already given into him once today, which was letting him bring you back up on this damned vessel. You’re not about to do it again.
“Fine.”
To this he rises, and you push down any intimidation you feel.
He wraps a hand around your wrist— not in a rough manner— but in a tight one. Indicating what you’ve started. Also to make sure you don’t take off sprinting again.
He would have been happy to let you do whatever you pleased with your watchman, but since you’re being so defiant, he’s not going to go out of his way for it.
“That settles that then, dove. Shall we get the rope and chain to?”
You say nothing at his sharp words, and follow him silently as he leads you back to where your morning started.
This time you try harder to remember the way you get there, adamant that you’ll remember better each time you walk through the halls.
Even though you’re not exactly sure when the next time you’ll be out here is…
Walking you into the cell, your eyes lock on the pillow and sheet laid on the floor, wondering if he’s going to take it with him just to be cruel.
He doesn’t.
“Enjoy the peace and quiet.” He gives a smirk, strolling casually over to the door. Not waiting for your reply before he tugs it shut behind him.
You hear the lock click in place and the pair of his heavy boots trod away. You breath out a long sigh. One you’re not sure if it’s caused by relief, exhaustion, or simply just being in solitude.
But one thing you are certain about, is that you cannot lay your trust in these pirates. No matter how much or how little kindness they show.
Caged in the four walls of this wooden cell, while breathing to the rise and fall of the ship, you promise yourself that you won’t give that faith to them.
Especially not Harry.
And with that, still in slightly damp clothing, you walk over to the panels of wood underneath the window. Your hand reaches for them, running along their hard yet smooth exterior.
The nail of your thumb comes up to the corner of one of wood pieces, slowly digging down to begin scraping in a little line.
It takes a bit of dragging up and down to refine the mark into the wood.
As your step back, you see it, engraved into the wood is a line.
I
The very first mark in your tally, representing the days stuck on this floating hell.
———
It’s two days before you’re let out of the cell chambers. Of course, you had someone pop in twice a day with food, water, and a toilet break—somehow there actually was a makeshift drop toilet down the hall— but that was as far as you ever made it out of the chamber.
You figured this was how the rest of your time here would be spent. Below deck, only being alive to add a strike onto your tally beneath the window.
But the late afternoon of the second day, Harry had come into your cell unannounced after your second meal of the day.
“Hey Princess.” He raises his brows, looking over your frame that was laid out on the floor.
“Captain.” You regard, tone dry with sarcasm, keeping your gaze trained on the roof.
“Right, you still sound a bit pissy.” He scoffs, acting like you’re a child whose been in a time out that clearly hasn’t worked.
“Obviously I am not in a fabulous mood.” You drawl, honestly tired, and maybe going a bit stir crazy already after being locked in there for over forty-eight hours.
“Well,” He sighs, readying his tone for fake sympathy, “that really is a shame, since I was going to ask you if you wanted to bathe… but if now isn’t a great time we can probably wait another couple of days?”
Your ears did perk up, because the idea of freshening up sounded great. Especially if something like soap was involved.
He watched an undeniable interest cast over features, and your eyes flit from the roof onto him for the first time.
You note his black blouse and also black pants, bringing out the tan skin he had. His hair looked extra soft for some reason.
“I…” you contemplated denying the offer, but you knew that meant it could be ages before you got another chance to bathe.
So with a sigh, you started moving so you could stand up.
“If only you weren’t so stubborn to begin with.” He commented, reaching to grab your wrist as he began to lead you out of your cell. He was moving quickly.
“And since I’m extra nice, you’re comin’ to my quarters to shower.”
You frown at this, walking slowly up the stairs due to your lack of energy. But he seemed to be fighting off the urge to rush you up them.
“Your quarters?”
He barks out a laugh at your comment, sounding as though he just told you horrible news, “Unless ya would prefer t’go into the communal ones we have for all the crew?”
Your face contorts in disgust at the idea.
“I figured mine was the closest thing fit for a princess.” He nods, a proud smirk over his mouth.
“You’re not showering with me, if that’s what you’re trying to get at. Perv.”
He shakes his head at your quip, leading you around the halls, “I never said anything of the sorts, dove. I have some self respect. You’d know if I wanted in that shower with ya.”
You roll your eyes, biting your tongue to say something else mean to him as he comes to a stop out the front of two large doors. You were relieved to realise you were here, because you felt like you’d walked halfway across the ship way too fast.
He unlocks them and takes you inside, the place is clearly his. Personal belongs are strewn all over the room. And it smells nicely of him.
“I— what am I meant to change into.” You sigh, feeling uncomfortable even having to ask. Wishing you could make that decision yourself with your own wardrobe.
“Ah, let me get you something.” He nods.
Surprisingly, he lets you go, and you’re standing free of restraints in the middle of his room.
The situation is odd to you… he’s being odd to you… but your too captivated by the prospect of having a proper wash to mull on it.
He sources a pair of soft fabric pants that he wears to sleep when it’s winter, and a black undershirt— both will likely be a bit big for you.
“Thanks…?” You’re unsure how to express yourself with his actions right now.
“Welcome,” He says airily, placing his palm against your back to usher you forward into his bathroom.
A small rustic shower sits in the corner, and he places the clothes he’d found on the plank cupboard top for you.
“I’ll leave to do what you need to do, and I’ll be back in half an hour.” His smile is curt, and he literally just walks out, locks the door behind him, and leaves.
“Okay…” you mutter to yourself now that he’s left you to you own devices in his personal pirate ensuite.
Meanwhile, once he safely has you locked in both his bathroom and bedroom, he breaks off into a run above deck.
Taking you into his personal quarters had been a last resort to swiftly get you out of the cell rooms.
Because the man that they’d just caught hold of— following them on a fake fishing boat— was somehow trying to get intel on what Harry’s crew was doing.
See, not only did pirates have enemies with royals. The also had them with other crews.
And this man was hellbent on taking the missing princess he was certain that was on your ship, for his own.
Now, he only was inferring that Harry had you. And technically, he was right. But that wasn’t something they were willing to let him pass along to the great vine.
So with little effort, they fought him, and got him held captive on their own vessel. Leaving his ship to float aimlessly through the sea without its captain.
They know they needed to rid of him, but they’re taking him down to the holding cells for a bit of information collecting.
When Zayn, one of Harry’s crew had suggested it, Harry immediately jumped to fear in regards to you. He didn’t want you to hear a word out of this horrid man’s mouth.
Or what exactly Harry and his men were willing to do to get information out of him.
‘That’ll terrify the poor girl if we do it while she’s down there!’ Harry had whisper shouted when Zayn proposed the idea.
The boys all exchanged an odd look he couldn’t understand, ‘She will probably be fine, mate—‘
Harry wasn’t taking chances on it, not only because who knew what would happen to this bloke down in that cell… but also because he didn’t want to scare her like that.
He was strapped for options on where to take her without her raising a million of her usual questions, ‘We don’t have anywhere else to take her.”
He thought aloud, and then it hit him. A sigh left the deep part of his lungs as he realised just how far he was willing to go for this.
‘I’ll… fucks sake give me five minutes.’
So he set off to fetch you for a ‘shower’…
And so maybe he would say that it was just to not terrify you from hearing something like that— or the gross things this man would admit aloud in the cell across from you.
But it also came from this tiny protective bone that dwelled in Harry’s heart. One he’d never admit grew a little when he was around you.
———
thank you so much for all your support and for all the love you always give, I hope you’re so excited to read this series as I am to write it. piraterry lives rent free in my head.
my apologies for any mistakes as it’s so late and I still haven’t done a final proof read!
—(comment or reach out to be added to series taglist🤍)
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eveningepiphany · 6 months
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New York City- 10/4
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eveningepiphany · 6 months
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hi !! i was just wondering if there was going to be a part five of “welcome to the final show.”
i love your work btw, you’re extremely talented. i hope you’re doing well xx
hi lovely! thank you so much for your support, I cannot explain how much it actually means.
i haven’t actually started a part five, it’s something i definitely think i will do, but I’ve been taking a small break so I don’t get burnt out writing the series.
i also will post little blurbs about the wttfs series once it is complete so that y’all don’t miss them too much!
all my love, 🫶
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eveningepiphany · 6 months
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go with it | H.S oneshot
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my masterlist!
summary: your ex boyfriend— someone you never want to talk to again— is searching for you at a party. trying to do anything to deter him or get away, you spot harry, and a plan comes to fruition.
warnings: cheating ex, surprise kiss, sexual tension, partial mentions of sexual stuff, love/hate relationship, protective! h, fluff, cuddling and lots of kissing
a/n: I’m sorry but this gif actually has me in a chokehold. his jawline, his chewing, his FROWN. literally melting 🫠
———
There was never a day you thought you’d be b-lining to Harry of all people.
Especially not with the intention of once getting there, that you would be slamming your lips against his.
However, you already know you’d rather face a pit of blood-thirsty snakes then be forced into a conversation with your asshole of an ex boyfriend.
Who you know is currently seeking you out, because when you’d caught glimpse of him scouring the groups of people inside the kitchen, after coming back from the bathroom— your stomach dropped, and someone tapped your shoulder.
“He’s your ex, right?” The girl had said this with a light scrunch of her nose as she looked over to him. Her face riddled with a sense of disgust you couldn’t relate to more If you tried.
You had nodded, to which she replied, “Well, he’s asking everyone if you’re here and where you are. Going by his personality I’m assuming you’re gonna want to avoid that.”
You’d never wanted to hug someone more then her in that moment.
At the information she’d so kindly shared with you, your first priority was getting out of the house.
The front door wasn’t an option since he is near the only hallway that leads it it. So out through the back patio, where a smaller group of people were mingling by the fire, was easily your best option.
You knew this was where he’d be likely looking next, so you ran out the door. Unsure if you are about to just find a way to jump the fence and make your escape or…
Either way, you knew if he managed to talk to you, you’d be getting an unwanted earful of advances.
He’d beg with his nasally voice for you to give him a chance, and then go on about the same bitter ending you’d both faced. To his own fault, of course.
He was talking to multiple other girls over the damn state while you were together. And once you found out, it confirmed your outlook on his person.
He of course was charming and nice at first. But it was almost in a sleazy way when you think back to it. He’d yelled at you when you bought up his adulterous habits, and you never looked back after that.
Once you were outside, you were considering your options, but you spotted a person on the other side of the decking.
The second your eyes locked on Harry, it was a done deal.
If you were to seem like you were in another relationship, he would be much more likely to back off. Much more likely to never contact or try to find you again.
He was petrified of other men. Always felt so inferior around them. So this would be perfect, if you could just make it work.
All your past with him fell from the forefront of your mind as you practically ran in his direction. Maybe you had argued countless times over college projects and he could be a bit of an ass, but you still knew you could trust him.
He was leaned against the wooden beam of the patio, skin casted with a warm glow from the fire a few feet away, down on the grass.
He had a signature frown. One that creased between his brows and pouted his pink lips. Creating his almost intimidating persona. Protective in a perfect way.
“Harry.” You state frantically, moving at a pace you’re not used to, shoes hitting the wooden decking hastily.
His scowl deepened as he heard his name, being pulled from his intense train of thought.
“What—” He looks honestly pissed off, but when his gaze snaps to you, it softens a tiny bit. Still annoyed, but just a sliver less.
Also confused at your frantic and rapidly approaching frame, which is now suddenly breaching the usual metre-wide distance you both would maintain on any other day.
“Y/N? What are you—“
You plant your hands on the side of his face, and the look of surprise in his eyes is evident.
His cheeks are warm and smooth under your palms, “I need you to just go with this okay? Can you do that for me?”
He is struggling to make sense of the situation, let alone get a sentence out without being interrupted.
“What do you—“
“I— I’ll explain later just—“ you take a final glance over your shoulder, and see your ex inside still, but seemingly headed for the sliding door to come outside.
This drives the final surge of adrenaline you need to tug his face to yours, melding your lips together. His are puckered in tense shock, and a noise of surprise sounds from the back of his throat.
His hands jump to your hips, gripping them like he’s not sure whether to pull you closer, or push you away.
Your mouth moves against his, and he reciprocates with a sense of hesitation.
His own brain is in absolute overdrive. The interaction far to short to go from being people who merely tolerate one another to people who are currently kissing.
And somewhere inside of him he acknowledges the feeling of how warm your lips are pressed to his.
He senses your urgency now though, hands tensing around his jaw at the sound of the access door getting slid open.
Parting his lips, he impulsively drags his tongue over your bottom lip. You sigh a sound of almost gratefulness at his action.
Harry turns his body swiftly, pressing your back into the railing, his lips moving harder against yours.
“Y/N! Are you bloody out here?” A grating voice sounds, and he quickly picks up the pieces of the story he was missing.
The voice also pulls him out of the half trance he’d gotten himself in. Your mouth so warm, he genuinely forgot his own name for a second.
One of your hands slide down to the neck of his black shirt, securing it in an anxious grip.
The pace quickly picks up, him plastering himself to you as close as physically possible. Clashing mouths as he shadows your body with his.
“Oi, mate!” He ignores the yell, and is met with the footsteps of this guy coming closer.
“Have you seen—“
Harry pulls from your mouth, turning his head to look at the dickhead who you’re clearly attempting to get away from. And who just hypothetically interrupted someone’s makeout session— which is just fucking rude anyway.
“Do I look like I have?” Harry scowls, an angry tone over his voice.
The guy frowns, an ugly look casting upon his features, he steps closer, “No need to be a fucking di—“
He moved just close enough to see you, frowning, making sense that you were just essentially making out with someone, “Y/N I—“
“Can you fuck off? We’re in the middle of something here, that you’ve just so kindly interrupted. Read the room you twat.” His sentences come out harsh, and it’s clear he means it.
Your ex tries his luck a final time, “look I just want to talk with—“
And Harry interjects it again, “She’s not interested.”
You stay quiet, and at this he gets a disgusted look. It appalls you that he thinks you owe him anything.
There’s a stare down between the two men. But you can see in his face he’s intimidated. Also humiliated, that you’ve seemingly moved on with someone else, and that he’s clearly got no shot at winning you back.
“Fucking ass.” He hisses, and turns around, storming down the patio and back inside.
Harry turns back to you, shielding your frame with his. A sigh of relief passes through you.
You look a little shaken up, and he loosens the grip he has on you slightly. Both your lips still puffed and shining from the exchange you unexpectedly shared.
“Thank you…” you pant out, not sure if you’re out of breath from the situation or because of Harry.
The reality of what just happened comes pelting down on you both.
And it’s quiet a moment as you both clock over in your brains that you just practically made out. It takes a second for him to break the silence,
“So, stalker? Ex? Random guy who can’t take no for an answer?” He quizzes.
Feeling embarrassed, you purse your lips— but are able to to taste the remnants of his own mouth on yours. “Ex.”
“Ex?”
You nod.
“You sound surprised. Didn’t you think I could land anyone?” You scoff, trying desperately to bring back the usual snarky vibe between the two of you.
“No, not at all. Just that he was clearly batting above his level. He was a proper dickhead, and that’s rich when it’s compared to you.” You thank god he plays back into your banter.
But he pries further, “What exactly did he do to you?”
“Long story.” You attempt to brush it off, but he has none of it.
“Love, y’just came over here and slammed your bloody mouth over mine, and now you’re not going to tell me why?”
“But—“
“No,” he interrupts, still very close to you as he shakes his head, “No buts. Y’said you’d explain after.”
A sigh rattles out of you, feeling a little pathetic you’re telling Harry you got cheated on.
“He cheated on me. Like with multiple girls.”
To this, his face immediately drops.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. Unfortunately.”
He fights the overwhelming urge to go hunt him down and lay a hand into the side of his fucking face. An absolute scumbag.
“What a pathetic excuse for a man.” He scoffs, “Lucky to have even got a pretty girl like you, and he blew it.”
You flush, another brief wave of quiet falling over the two of you. His compliments throwing you.
You quietly speak again, “I’m sorry about the… kiss. Didn’t really get as much consent as I’d have liked.”
You did feel guilty, you don’t usually go forcing your mouth onto unsuspecting men.
“No, it’s okay. You did it for a reason.” He shakes his head at your apology, and in all honesty, he enjoyed it.
Somehow it meant more than many of his others have. And he can’t quite pinpoint why.
“I… I carpooled here so, I think I’m gonna call an Uber and go home ‘cause…”
You had no interest in sticking around, incase your ex comes back— and you don’t want to spend the rest of your night glued to Harry’s side, because you doubt he’d want that.
“You’re not catching an Uber home.” He scoffs aloud, fishing his keys from his back pocket, “I’ve only had one drink, I’ll be fine to drive, so I’ll take you.”
“Harry, no. You’ve already done plenty for me tonight, I’ll be fine—“
He grabs at your hand, lacing them together and beginning to walk you down the patio.
“I’m driving you home.” He states, leading the you inside.
He clutched your hand tight, eyes forward and uncaring of the heads that had turned your way.
You on the other hand had burned up at the curious— and quickly jealous— eyes.
Harry was by no means a whore. There were plenty of rumours of him sleeping with certain girls. Mostly outlandish stories that eventually fizzled out to nothing.
He’d had a few girlfriends here and there, but it’d been a while since. And he’s maybe had one actual fling over the last couple months.
It just seemed he was harder to get. And many women tried their luck around the school. Yet to no avail.
You cast your sight down, walking behind him out the front door. Relishing in the quiet surroundings of the front lawn, free of prying glares.
He unlocked his car that was parked on the side of the road, and he opens the side door for you to get in. Chivalry mustn’t be dead.
Once you’re both in the car, you fight the urge to say again that he really doesn’t have to take you, because it’s clear there is no other option on his end.
So instead, you let out a tiny thank you, and he nods while starting the car.
However, your self restraint only branches so far— matter-of-fact, you weren’t even out of the street— before you blurt out, “Everyone was staring.”
He veers his gaze momentarily to you, then flicking it back to the road. Silence stretches a moment, and he recalls the heat of your lips pressed to yours with no real prompt.
And when he thinks of it, the image doesn’t leave his head. It unwillingly transpires, into something that bubbles into the pit of his stomach.
He had to blink it away, grounding himself when he hears your nervous swallow.
“I— what?” He’s confused at what you mean, while you kissed? When you walked out?
“When we walked out.” You reply, and he makes sense of what you’re talking about.
“People will always stare. They’re nosey.”
“I know.”
There’s another breath of silence, until he laughs, so suddenly that it almost makes you jump.
“Where am I going?” He asks, still chuckling as he realises he’s literally just driving aimlessly.
“Oh.” You sputter out a laugh as well, rattling off the side of town he needs to start driving to.
You wish you had more to say to him. That’s conversation usually flowed easily— filled with the sarcastic retorts it usually is. But now all that sat between you was a thick, hot slab of tension.
It wasn’t bad— not by any means— but it was easy to tell both of you were stuck in your own head. And you fear you’ve fashioned a permanent problem between the two of you.
Your voice only cut through the quiet once you were a few blocks away from your house.
He hummed acknowledgements to your each set of directions, and before you knew it, you were pointing out your house to him.
As his car pulled to a stop in the driveway, he didn’t hesitate to turn off the engine and get out.
Confused, you follow suit anyway, but wondered if he was about to walk you to your door.
And you weren’t wrong. Somehow, the guy who seems hardly like a gentleman, is waiting to walk the maybe 15 steps with you from his car to your front door.
You get your keys from your small bag, looking at him with an undeniably curious gaze as you meet his side.
He follows in sync by your side, hands in pockets. All the way up the patio steps, and he falls to a stop when you do, still next to you.
“Thank you for driving me home…” you smile, and can feel an unwilling red colouring spread over your cheeks.
“Was nothin’. Glad you’re home safe.”
“Were you seriously worried about me?” You frown, yet it’s undeniably endearing his concern for you.
A tiny scoff sounds from him, “Obviously?”
“That fuckin’ twat of an ex you have hardly seems like a good person. And who’s t’say he wouldn’t follow you home from that party and…” he stares off in thought, jaw clenching.
“Harry.” You state, stepping forward, wrapping a single hand around his wrist.
“Thank you.”
His distant gaze was snapped away at your touch. He’s never really considered himself an overly violent person, but your ex was easily about to change that.
And he hardly can pinpoint why. Or not yet.
The only thing he knows he wants to do again in sudden clarity, is kiss you. It almost shocks him, because he hasn’t felt an urge as strong as this in forever.
“Can— I need you to just go with this.” He mutters, being the one now very suddenly invading the gap between you both.
He’s mimicking what you said when you kissed him, yet you don’t realise “I’ll explain later.”
His hand cups the side of your jaw, and he leans to brush his lips against yours, a breath of relief fanning out his nose after finally feeling the contact.
You’re stood on your porch, and Harry is kissing you.
And somehow you’re all the sudden kissing him back.
Not because there’s someone you’re running from. Not because you have to. Because you want to.
He pulls you closer to him, allowing his teeth to graze your lower lip. Causing your hands to card through the hair at the nape of his neck.
You both play a back and forth game. Full of lips against tongue and tongue against teeth.
Until you’re both panting and running out of new places to map out with your hands.
“Care to explain?” You retort gently, stricken of breath.
He hums in the back of his throat, barley a rumble as he trails his mouth along your jaw, and down to the base of your neck.
“Is this enough of an answer?” He asks, sucking the skin between your two collarbones between his teeth.
Your knees almost give out at the sensation, and even the pressure behind his harsh mouth.
A near whimper comes from you, and he licks over the slightly bruised spot before he pulls back.
He cocks an eyebrow, expectant of your answer, despite having such a skilled mouth you’re pretty sure you forgot your own name for a second there.
“I— yes. That was… plenty.” You nod.
“Did it because I wanted to, and y’have an incredibly hot little mouth.” He provides anyway, a laugh coming from him as he pecks your cheek. All gentle, all loving.
You’re lacking for words completely, and can only lean your head against his broad chest. Unsure what exactly you’ve sparked between the two of you this evening, but simultaneously not caring of the future right now.
“I’m also probably not going to be able to stop thinking about it…” he whispers.
“Stay.” You blurt out, and then clarify a few seconds later, “The night.”
He chuckles at this, “Are you trying to get in bed with me now? Moving very quickly, sweetheart.”
You flush, “Not everything is about sex, you fucking addict.”
“So you were inviting me to stay the night so we could cuddle?”
“I was.” You affirm, despite not being opposed to his idea either.
Grabbing his hand, you lead him to your front door. Unlocking it and making quick work of sneaking him inside without the one of your three lovely housemates hearing.
All the others were luckily out at varying parties, and the only girl still home— Grace— sleeps like a log.
“You seem like a bit of a professional at sneaking people in.” He smirks, kicking his shoes off and leaving them in the corner of your room.
With only the lamp turned on, he’s lit with a warm glow, and he looks beautiful.
“Comes naturally when you live with housemates that are like your best friends. They wanna know everything.” You go to your cupboard, pulling out a jumper to change into.
He watches as you pull it over your head, yet managing to unclip your top and bra off underneath it.
“Impressive.” He nods at your easy change.
“I’m taking my pants off.” You state, “and not in a sexual way, perv.”
He lets out a defensive laugh, “I’m not a perv! You’re the one stripping off.”
You unbutton your jeans, sliding them down your legs to change over to sweatpants. His gaze strays around your room and you smile at his respectfulness.
Once you’re changed, you sit on the edge of your bed.
You lock eyes, and he gives a sly smile, not waiting to tug his shirt over his head and unbutton his own jeans.
You cover your eyes, sarcastically scoffing, “yea well, I didn’t plan on getting fully naked, but you go right ahead.”
“No different if we went swimming, darling. Still have my underwear on.”
You don’t get to reply as his hands tap your knee, “Budge up.”
You uncover your eyes, being met with his toned chest and calvin klein briefs.
Obliging silently, as he gets under the covers with you. The two of you rearrange until you’re comfortable.
Your head perched on his side as you cuddle into him, arm over his abdomen. His own arm curled underneath you.
“This is… an awfully weird situation we’ve ended up in.” You laugh. Because you’re cuddling in your bed right now, and if you told yourself even yesterday that would be happening, there no way in hell you would have taken it seriously.
“Guess it is.” He shrugs, turned his head to look down at yours.
“Still hate your guts.” You whisper.
“Mm, i don’t think I ever even hated you.” He muses.
You laugh, “Is that so?”
“Seriously,” he nods, “you’re too pretty. And even though you’re annoying, and can’t admit when you get a project question wrong, i think I have a little bit of a soft spot for you.”
“Gross.” You say, but he can hear in your tone— and the way it nearly shakes— that you actually are a little worked up over his minor confession.
“Cmon, you can’t even admit you like me a tiny bit?”
You shake your head, blushing profusely as you try to hide it.
He tugs you further up, so he can look at you properly, “You’re blushing though. Like you always seem to do when I get a bit sappy. Which is my most recent observation of you.”
He doesn’t let you respond as he presses another kiss to your lips again. And you smile into it unwillingly.
He pulls away mid-kiss, letting you whine a little at the abrupt ending to it.
“Admit it, and we can keep kissing.” He says, and it draws an eye-roll from you.
But he somehow knows it will work, because you quickly crack under his ultimatum, “Fine! Yes. I like you— just a little bit.”
To your response he laughs, murmuring against your lips, “I’ll take it, I suppose.”
He presses another kiss against you, and you press back again.
It becomes another makeout session, but despite being the third one of the night, it’s the first time hands can skate against mostly bare skin.
Which his own palms find their way under your jumper, and one cups gently at your breast, flicking over your nipple while his tongue dips into your mouth.
That’s as far as it goes for tonight though.
He kneads the flesh there softly, until you’re panting into his mouth with a heat budding between your legs.
Somehow there’s an unspoken not tonight agreement.
And you know that despite how needy you feel for him, it’s definitely for the best. And you’re still shocked you made it this far with him.
You roll into him further, chest rising and falling quickly as you sigh out to him, “I lied.”
“When?” He sounds completely unconcerned, despite your risky sentence starter.
“Before, when I said I only liked you a little bit.”
He chuckles at your response, “How was that a lie, hm?”
“I like you more than a little bit.”
“You’re sweet, darling.” He strokes his thumb against your ribcage, “so do I.”
To this you smiled. Eyes growing heavy at his rhythmic touches and soothing voice.
And his gentle words are the last that you hear before you fall asleep against his chest.
Both filled with a warmth you haven’t felt in a long time.
———
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eveningepiphany · 6 months
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welcome to the final show | H.S, part 4
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my masterlist!
summary: suddenly it’s not just you and harry anymore, and not only do the general media want an explanation, but so do your friends and family. however, the two of you are only just figuring things out yourselves.
warnings: paparazzi, anxiety surrounding leaked images, fluff, comforting, confessions, make out session, sexual content!
a/n: no because i am so thrilled for you all to read this. these two are so much fun to write about. I hope you enjoy <3
(I was on the fence about including smut, but I decided i wanted to! if that’s not something you want to read, a little warning will come up when it’s about to begin. plot wise you won’t miss anything if you choose not to read it!)
———
There’s a certain type of love that comes around once and a while. It’s rare.
And it’s an all consuming kind. One that when you think about it you feel it to the bone.
And oh, had you done a lot of thinking. Overthinking was pretty much all you’ve been doing the past two weeks.
You obviously are attracted to Harry. Physically, emotionally… just in every sense of the word. That’s nothing new for you. And even throughout the points of denial since forming a personal relationship with him. It’s the truth.
You’ve probably gaslit yourself out of it more times then you could count. However picture evidence of you holding hands with him in the homely streets of Italy is kind of a slap to the face.
And despite how cute you think the photos may be, you are still inexplicably panicked about them.
It’s the morning after the photos got posted. And you are genuinely still in shock. You struggled to fall asleep last night after the images first came out— your brain in complete overdrive for god knows how long until you fell asleep.
And this morning you’re ignoring the influx of messages and calls you’re getting from family, friends, and people you’ve met through love on tour.
Several texts from your own sister coming through half an hour ago. All of them including the word ‘fuck’. Shes definitely mad you didn’t tell her this had happened.
Either way, you’re left pacing the length of your hotel room. Heart still near racing in your chest as you try to figure out what to do, and how to handle something like this.
You held hands with him, you remind yourself. You didn’t get caught making out with him… the act for you came across as still something bordering platonic— even though you wished it were anything but that. This could eventually blow over.
You sigh out, leaning against the wall of your hotel, this was considerably more simple when the rest of the population had no idea it was happening.
Now they do, and they have a lot of questions. Plus, it makes it significantly harder when it’s about things you don’t even have answers to.
Harry hadn’t messaged you since everything had happened. If he even knows is beyond you.
But it felt wrong talking to anyone about it without talking to him first.
You felt a sense of guilt. Because this easily will stir up drama for him. Stuff like this spreads so fast, and you’ve seen it happen 100 times. But now you’re no longer in the back seat just watching it unfold. There will be articles, posts, even snippets in the newspapers about it. And whether or not it’s something he’s accustomed to, you still feel at fault. Like you could’ve been more careful, more considerate.
You move to sit on the edge of your unmade bed, staring at your phone that you’ve left on the bench top. How do you even approach it? What do you say to him?
You quickly decide you don’t really want to, at the moment. There is too much going through your head, and you’re still a bit freaked out about it all.
So another anxiety shower is. Which for right now, is your best and favourite option.
Standing up, you head to the bathroom, leaving your phone out in the room, allowing it to continue buzzing while you decide it’s time for some hardcore self-care to calm yourself down.
On the other side of things, Harry is also freaking out. He woke up to texts from a couple people, asking about a headline?
And for people he knows personally to be reaching out about trashy posts on the media, it’s almost always a bad sign.
One being from James, who has been off ‘The Late Late Show’ too long for him to withhold himself from making bad jokes when they present themselves.
Are they even allowed to put that many exclamation marks in the title? Overkill if you ask me. 😪😪
But when he reads the link and sees the image of himself with you, his anxiety immediately shifts from being personal.
[ 1 attachment link] : Styles Has Found His Next Musical Muse, But She’s Actually a ‘Hardcore Fangirl!!!’”
He’s almost positive you will have seen the leaked images. There is no way you would have missed this unless you were still sleeping.
Guilt nearly slaps him in the face. You do not deserve this. He already knows that you’re probably being slammed on Twitter and in comments of these pathetic articles.
And that is never nice. He hates it enough when it’s himself, and that’s after a decade of learning how to deal with it.
His concern for you leads to a text, one he doesn’t want to make, but does anyway. Purely for the fact he needs to know you’re alright.
Because the worst thing that could happen is you having some kind of anxiety attack after reading something online, and not having anyone there to be with you to talk you down. Regardless of how confident you can appear to him, he’s not taking the chance.
Hi love, can you please let me know you’re alright?
He sends it through, and then he typed out another one after it’s been about five long minutes without a reply.
I am very possibly overreacting right now, but do you need me to come over?
Another ten minutes go by,
I’ll be over in about 15. x
He is aware this may be over the top. You could be asleep. You could be just processing what’s happened— since he still remembers the first time things like this happened to him. And it’s a really weird experience.
But he is undeniably protective of you. That is one thing he can’t lie about.
And even more-so, he’s terrified this will scare you off. Because if it’s too much for you, he has no clue how he’d deal with it. Since it’s way too far out of his hands now.
Even though he knew well that this was a easily plausible situation. And it’s almost surprising how long they’ve gone without it happening earlier.
In his own time, he’s been overthinking plenty too. Wondering if it’s normal to want to lay your entire life down for someone two weeks after meeting them.
Maybe if he were 16… but pushing 30… it might be a bit harder to justify.
But somehow, despite knowing how stupid he probably seems, he leaves his bedroom after throwing on some shorts and a tshirt. Going out and grabbing the keys for his car from the kitchen.
Gemma is out there cooking toast, and she turns around to see him near running out the door.
“Harry!” She says, and when he stops to give her a quick greeting she interrupts him.
“Don’t worry so much.” She sighs.
Immediately confused, he frowns, frozen in place, “what…?”
“I’m assuming that this Y/N you’ve been on about really likes you too, okay? There’s no way she doesn’t. So just treat it like any other relationship or friendship you have. No matter the circumstances you met under. If you like her, you like her. Don’t let shit from the media get to either of you.”
Her advice comes just when he needs it, as it always does. And even though he acts like she doesn’t, she knows almost everything there is to know.
A small nod, “Thank you Gem…”
She gives him a warm smile, one that’s always encouraged him.
———
You hear the knock on the door while you’re standing in the bathroom, finishing applying a face mask. Stood clad in your shorts and black boob tube.
And after finally calming down a bit, it gives you another wave of panic. Since after waiting a few moments, the rapping on the door continues. You were hoping they would just go away, whoever it was.
You quietly leave your bathroom, going down the short hallway to look through the peephole in the door.
You don’t even get your eye up to it before you hear the all too familiar voice on the other side.
“Y/N, it’s Harry…” He was a bit muffled, but you didn’t even think as you start unlatching the locks on the door.
The look of relief on his face when you finally peek out is almost palpable.
“Hi…” you say quietly, pulling the door open further, letting him come in quickly.
He has two cups in his hands, and once he’s inside your room, he is fast to place them on the nearest free space.
“What are you—“ you don’t get through the sentence before he breaches the distance between you, tugging you into a hug, uncaring of the face mask residue getting on his shirt.
He squeezes you, “‘M so glad y’alright.”
You take a deep breath. So, he knows.
You feel immediately bad for not letting him know earlier, before he felt the need to come over.
“Did you call me? I’m so sorry, i was in the—”
“I texted you couple times— don’t be sorry. I don’t want it to seem weird I came rushing over… i was jus’ worried about you.”
You slowly draw back, “I was going to text you, I just didn’t want to… i didn’t know how to go about it, i guess?”
He pulls away, “I am so fuckin’ sorry this happened.”
“Why are you apologising? I should be…”
“Why should you apologise? You of all people do not deserve to be dissected by people in the media. Ive dragged you into something you didn’t deserve to be dragged into.” He says, sounding exasperated.
“You aren’t at fault for any of this, H. I feel like I’ve stirred up unnecessary drama up for you…” To this he immediately shakes his head.
“You haven’t. I was just worried about how you’d perceive it all… and fuck— i didn’t want it to scare you off.”
You both seem to realise that you were freaking out over each other. Starting to laugh together, realising how stupid you both probably sound.
“Okay… we sound really silly.” You sigh, moving to grab the cup he’d placed down prior to your very quick debrief.
“But seriously, Harry,” you lead him over to sit down on the edge of your bed with you, “I am still sorry. I feel like I’ve caused unnecessary… assumptions.”
He frowns a little, “assumptions?”
“About us. You know…” you shrug, eyes avoiding him, doing a terrible job at acting nonchalant.
“That we’re together? That what you’re so shy about, hm?” He teases, and you physically cannot handle the way he says it.
“I— well— Yes, sure that’s what I was going for.”
You gently scratch at the dried edges of your clay face mask, and he watches quietly, wishing he could see the blush that’s risen on your cheeks underneath it.
“Why were you showering so early— It’s like midday, I thought you said you showered in the evening?” He asks, out of the blue, causing you to frown.
Your answer comes out unsurely, “I have anxiety showers sometimes. It calms me down.”
He cocks his eyebrow, “Is that why you were literally dripping wet when i came over the other day?”
He pins you with his gaze, and you don’t reply for a few seconds. You were hoping he broke the silence himself, but it was clear he was waiting for a response.
You blurt out, “You make me nervous!”
To this he laughs, “I make you nervous?”
“Not… all the time.” You amend, “Just sometimes.”
You remove yourself before he can ask more questions, and you go to wash off the face mask in the bathroom, while he’s still stifling his laughter.
You emerge after washing it off with cold water, and his eyes follow your every step as you go to sit back down.
“Yknow, Y/N, if I didn’t know any better I’d—“
He’s cut off by a bang on the front door.
You were only scared for a second, until you heard a shrill feminine shout from outside it. One you know to be your best friends classic angry voice.
You were relieved for only about another second before you realised, she will probably break that door down if you don’t let her in.
Oh god.
“Y/N Y/L/N. LET. ME. IN!” You can picture her angry little face. And you’re almost a bit terrified of her.
But you have to hide Harry. Like you have to actually hide him.
“Harry— you— fuck, get up—” You whisper, trying to stay as quiet as possible, grabbing his wrist.
“What is happening?” He sounds awfully confused as you manhandle him around the hotel room, trying to find an adequate place to hide a 6 foot tall man from your fired up best friend.
“She may kill you— she loves you— but she’s very mad at me right now, because I didn’t tell her about,” you pause as you try to label again whatever the two of you were, “us… this… whatever you want to deem it.”
You realise the cupboard is about the only reasonable place, unless you make him climb down the balcony.
“Are you—“
“Y/N! i already KNOW you’re in there!” She calls from the door again.
You tug the door of it open, “Get in!”
You half push him inside it, “I’m so sorry, but just, just sh okay??”
He nods hastily, and you quite literally shut him in there.
“I’m coming!” You shove the takeaway cups into a kitchen cupboard and rush to the door.
Letting her in, she practically storms past you. And you pray to god you can get rid of her in a short period of time.
“I’m sorry!” You say to her, grabbing her hands.
“How could you not tell me something like that?!” She barks, shaking your arms like an angry child.
You do feel bad, because you would also be pissed if it were the other way around.
You try to explain, clutching her warm palms tighter, “To respect his privacy! I wanted to, so, so badly but I just… I didn’t want it getting out.”
She groans, pulling you in for a tight, yet still frustrated hug.
“But you know I wouldn’t have told anyone!”
“I do, i know. I’m sorry.” You embrace her, “but every time we were together there were other people… and I just hadn’t figured out how, let alone talked to him about it.”
She calms down a tiny bit, and sometimes the best way to describe her is like a miniature tornado. Her anger is very quick to bubble over and turn her into this fired up, yelling ball of energy. Yet it dissipates shortly after she lets it all out.
“Okay, well I get that, of course. But… wait are you two actually— have you slept with him?” You pull back from the hug and give her a shocked stare. Her ask stuns you for a moment.
You’re hyperaware that he is listening to this conversation.
What is he thinking right now— you can’t help but wonder. And you have to physically force yourself to push the thoughts that come with such a question aside.
“I— why would you ask me that!” You hiss at her, sounding guilty, even though you’re just throughly embarrassed.
“Because he's Harry Styles!” She exclaims, “who happens to be a very gorgeous man, and I would not be surprised if you wanted— I don't know— in his pants?”
“We are just friends!” You drag your hand down your face. Internally pleading that she stops saying embarrassing shit.
“Whatever you little liar. Acting like as if you haven't said on multiple occasions just how bad you wan—“
“OKAY!” You interrupt, trying to keep the frantic tone out of your voice, “I get it. I really do, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. But look, I have so many people I have to call and— i think my whole family also want me dead— so can we maybe get a coffee tomorrow? Talk it over, and you can ask all the questions you want.”
At your proposal, she seems to realise you mean it. And despite the confused look on her face at the fact you’re kicking her out to call what is basically her own adopted family, it seems she understands.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t wanna seem pushy. I was… just also in shock. Tomorrow at 10?” She smiles.
You start both walking over to the door, “that’s perfect.”
Tugging her into another hug, she huffs out an ‘I love you.’
You laugh and give her a chaste peck on the side of her head, “I love you too. I promise I wanted to tell you on my end. I just didn’t want to fuck anything up…”
She nods, pulling back, “I know. And if you need anything, or anyone before I see you tomorrow, don’t forget I’m only a few floors up.”
“I won’t.” You open the door for her, and bid a final goodbye. And once it’s shut, you realise how badly you want the ground beneath your feet to literally swallow you whole.
Despite the embarrassment, you quickly rush over to let Harry out of the cupboard you’d shoved him in.
And as he steps out, adorning a smirk and clearly stifling a laugh, you apologise profusely.
“God— I am so incredibly sorry.”
A proper abashed grin spreads across his face, one that flashes his dimples. Reminding you of the sign you took to the last show, telling him how pretty you thought his smile was. You still think the same.
“Kind of exciting hiding in a cupboard. I never even did it as a teenager.” He chuckles, brushing a few stray curls from his eyes.
“Do I look a little more youthful? As gorgeous as ever?” He teases.
“I am so sorry you had to hear all of that, she has a… she lacks a filter.” You excuse, cheeks flaming as you try to dig yourself out of the hole your best friend has unwittingly buried you in.
“That's okay love, but I am a little curious…”
You frown at his careful words.
He takes a step closer as he continues, “what so badly did you want to do to me that you told all your friends about?”
At this, you completely turn your face away from his green-eyed stare. Because you cannot trust yourself.
He doesn’t realise the dangerous game he’s playing with you right now. Especially while he’s standing in-front of you like this. Tattooed arms out, beautiful face and jawline on display.
“Y/N, darling. I asked a question.” His voice has turned to honey. He’s talking you in a way he never has before. With a tone that is almost demanding an answer, laced with a undertone of seduction.
“Stop it.” You hiss, flicking his solid chest with your hand.
He steps forward, and you step back in response. He backs you up all the way to the edge of your bed.
“Stop being a flirt.” You scoff, finally holding eye contact for more than a second.
His pupils have blown out a little, and the stare he’s giving you is something you want burned into the underside of your eyelids.
“Why? Is it working.” He chuckles, demeanour softening a tiny bit as his hand slides down your arm.
You don’t reply.
“Please tell me, Y/N. I want to know. Y’know I’m nosey.”
“Resorted to begging, I see.” You snort, heart still hammering behind your rib cage.
“If it works, I can do plenty of it.” He playfully remarks.
You try to not reply again, but you’re met with a silence. Somehow he knows you’re going to fill it with a fumbled half-confession.
“I don’t even really remember. I was probably tipsy on some wine. Said some stuff to… the girls. After a show.”
“After a show?” He smirks, “Which one?”
“Barcelona. And maybe back at… another. One or two others.”
“But that’s all I’m saying!” You interject, hoping he takes that as enough of an answer.
He laughs at your attempted defiance.
“Anyways, what even— what are you getting at here?” You ask, because truly, his flirting is heavily confusing you. In every way possible.
“Remember when you told me I had a the prettiest smile?” He lightly grazes your hip with his warm hand.
“I— yes. That was like, 2 weeks ago. What’s your point?” You are biting at your bottom lip.
“Don’t get feisty.” He coos, “Everytime I smile around you, I think of that. And then, I wonder what other things you think about me. What other parts you see of me and consider as pretty.”
“And, can you blame a man for wanting to know what dirty things you’ve said about him to y’friends?”
Jesus Christ. A part of you melts at his words. He is watching you like a hawk, gauging your every little reaction. But you’re clinging to any part of you that’s trying to keep this from heading in that direction. Even though you know it’s not because you don’t want to.
“We really shouldn’t… H.” You state, voice almost shaking with an unspoken need. One that you’re trying to keep from bursting through the seams.
“Why not, Y/N?” He asks, making it sound like a challenge. Causing him to be met with a quick jump in your voice.
You are pulling at every part of your strength right now to justify why this is a terrible idea.
“Because, Harry. I am a fucking fangirl for you. Not in a casual way either, like bordering a little bit insane! It’s horrifying, and very embarrassing! And this is a horrible idea, because I don’t think you understand the kind of—“ You don’t get to finish whatever you were about to say, because he kisses you. With his all.
It feels like he pours every once of his being into it. The way his smooth lips press into your own, fuelled by a heat that is felt in the very pit of your stomach. Your knees almost buckle at the sensation.
You grab his shoulder to stabilise yourself. And your lungs are already drawn of all their air.
In actuality, it mustn’t have lasted very long— maybe a couple seconds— before he pushes the back of your knees against the bed, forcing you to sit down.
He draws in a breath after you seperate, “I don’t care if you have photos of me on your fucking bedroom walls, baby.”
“Could not care less, look at you.” He leans down now, kissing over your lips again in separate, doting pecks, “y’so gorgeous, and genuine. I love that you love what I do.”
You’re in a bit of shock, looking up at him with widened eyes. Because obviously you’ve imagined kissing him before. Probably a thousand times. And that dream has somehow sprung to fruition.
How exactly? you’re still unsure.
“I— Harry.” You say, with no real purpose, clutching onto his broad shoulders.
The way you whine out his name drives him almost insane, and he drops down onto his knees between your spread legs. Giving him easier access to kiss your mouth.
His hands snake around your waist, and he lets his lips slot back over yours.
You loose yourself in the act, your own fingers skating up his back and into the hair at the nape of his neck.
It’s so fucking soft. And you use it to press his face closer to yours. He’s surprised when you’re the one to part your lips and dart your tongue out first.
Skating along his pink bottom lip as an invitation.
He accepts it happily, clutching at your waist while he lets his tongue dip into the heat of your mouth. You can’t help but groan at the sensation, and feel the warmth start to gather between your thighs.
He was kissing you like a starved man. And slowly everything you knew started slipping from the forefront of you mind. All you could feel and focus on was him.
How his muscly frame filled up your senses—and the area between your knees— paired with the glide of his tongue over your teeth.
—((sexual content from here and onwards))
His hands tracing over several parts of your body, even going to pull you closer with his hands cupping your bottom. Squeezing at the swell of your ass playfully.
You bite your teeth down onto his lip and drag it backwards, eliciting a moan from the back of his throat.
Your hips push forward, brushing the front of your shorts on his torso, causing his jaw to go lax.
The two of you seperate for air, panting, and his eyes veer south, looking at where you’re pressed against him.
“Fuckin’ Christ. Look at you, needy little thing.”
You bury your head into his neck, kissing along his sharp jawline. Unable to control your slowly circling hips.
“So, y’willing to share what it is you wanted to do to me yet? Given that you’re practically grinding on m’chest.”
You hum a maybe, and he lets out a deep laugh.
“After Barcelona,” You start, and he works to coax the answer out of you with his hands and lips.
“Mmhm…” he acknowledges, mouthing against your clavicle.
“You had looked so good that night… and I got a little tipsy after the show, back at our BNB.”
“You were in those low rise black pants, and that tiny cropped vest. And my god— i said to all the girls that if you were down, I would happily let you take me. Anyway you wanted.”
“Anyway?” His hoarse voice asks.
“Anyway. Fingers, tongue... cock.”
At the first mention of something genuinely sexual, he almost looses it. Envisioning your spread legs with his head pressed between them.
“But I didn’t just say that because I was tipsy. Or because of the outfit you wore.” You allude quietly.
He can’t wait another second before he’s pressing his already swollen lips back against yours. And hard.
“Want everything off you.” He fists at your boob-tube.
Your body is hotter than a thousand suns, and your need for him is literally tearing through you.
It’s clear this was your tipping point. There was no going back to something casual and platonic. The way your whole body ached to have him was unfathomable.
“Strip me.” You beg, arms lifting so he can tug the thin black material over your head, leaving your breasts in a strapless bra.
He runs his tongue over the exposed skin, hands sliding to the clasp at your back to get it off you.
He moans aloud once he sees you, briefly recalling the times his gaze has dipped to your cleavage in those little sundresses you wore while you were out together, and how he would always be wishing for a moment like this.
He laves his tongue over your nipple, before quickly occupying himself with the button of your shorts.
“These off too?” He confirms, voice gravelly with want.
Hastily, you nod, “Yes, all of it.”
Your sheer eagerness is turning him on even more. You always seemed a tiny bit reserved, so hearing you beg for your clothes to get torn off…
“Ass up,” he asks, watching as you lift it from the bed so he can tug the shorts from your waist and down your legs.
Left in nothing but your underwear, he slides his hand over your front to see how wet you were.
You moan as his fingers brush over your clothed-clit. And you notice now that your arousal has wet through your panties.
“Fucking hell. You realise you’re absolutely drenched, right baby?” He near moans, rubbing a gentle circle over the fabric.
“I—shit— I’m sorry, didn’t think I’d gotten so…” You’re almost a little embarrassed at the amount of arousal between your legs.
He hooks his fingers into the crotch of your underwear, peeling them down your thighs.
Your bare cunt had him almost light headed. You were genuinely glistening, and your slick had already spread to the hood of your clit.
“Darling don’t be sorry. Y’got the prettiest little pussy. Cant believe you’re this wet.”
“What did it for you, huh?” He asks finger running through you, eliciting a groan from both your throats.
In a pleasure-filled haze, you slur out a reply, “You. Just all of you.”
You squirm under his featherlight caress, and take a moment to watch him gaze at you. There is nothing but this look of admiration and desire in his eyes.
“Wanna see you, Harry.” You plea, tugging at the hem of his shirt.
He waits not a second to slip it over his head, and your hands immediately run down his torso. Staying quiet as he lets you indulge.
This is something you have thought of in a million different ways. His chest is built like that of a Greek gods, and his tattoos are an added bonus.
You feel the ridges of his abs under your fingertips, and you trace over the butterfly tattoo as well.
His breath flutters in and out of his nose. But using your hands doesn’t satiate you.
You need him on your tongue.
“Stand up.” You ask, and he doesn’t question you, he just obliges.
You keep him stood between your bare legs, but lean your neck inwards, tongue jutting out to run a solid strip up his stomach.
A rumble comes from him, akin to a growl as you move to of his pecs. Gliding your tongue over the hair-dusted flesh, and enveloping his own nipple into your mouth.
You’d never done this before, since sucking on a guys nipple is less of a commodity… but the reaction it works out of him is perfect.
The way he throws his head back, sharp jaw tilted to the celling, and hair falling from his forehead.
“Oh… oh god.”
You draw back, grabbing his shorts and pushing them down. Kissing both the laurels that sit atop his hips before cupping your hand over his bulge, covered by black Calvin Klein briefs.
“Can I take you out, please?”
“Such nice manners, good girl.”
Good girl. The words float around in your head, and something else inside of you comes undone.
Not sure if it was your self respect… or some other part of your morals. But you could go feral simply over those two words.
You bite down on your lip as you tug the briefs down, watching his cock slip up.
Lord.
You almost salivate. It’s perfect in every way you’d want it to be. A flushed red tip, dotted with beads of pre-cum. And of course it’s big.
For an already perfect man, it’s hard to believe you can strip him completely, and still not find a single flaw.
“Staring pretty hard… you a little intimated?”
“It’s big.” You state, hand coming to wrap around its thick base. “Want it in me.”
He leans down, picking you up by your thighs. You laugh in reaction, him manhandling you into the centre of your still unmade bed.
There was a sense of intimacy that was being shared as he pulled you forward, so you were straddling his hips.
Both of you leaned forward to lock lips, kissing feverishly as you touched over every inch of skin you could. Eventually, both of your hands falling between the others legs.
You stroked over him, and he careful slid his middle finger into you.
He worked you until you were near dripping down his hand, and were scraping your nails along his shoulders.
“Harry— need you…” you beg.
“Want me to take you right now?” He asks, cock throbbing in your hand.
“Yes. I can handle it. Promise. I’m clean and on birth control if you wanna go bare.”
“Only if you’re sure. I trust you.”
“I am… just want to feel you.” You plead.
“Need you to tell me how y’want it first, pretty.” He coos, curling his finger inside you.
You moan in response, and he slides it out shortly after so he regains your attention.
“I—“ you stutter, now feeling empty, “anyway you want, I said that earlier.”
“No, baby, how do you like it?” He asks again, smiling against your skin.
“Anything, hard or gentle, I’ll come either way. Look at you— as if I wouldn’t.”
He pulls your core to his, rubbing the tip against your slick hole, “Then tell me as we go how you’re doing, and what you want or need okay. Want you to feel really good, m’kay?”
You nod, and he starts to sink into you, already pulling a moan from your lips at the stretch.
He on the other hand struggles to hold himself together as your warm walls part for him.
“Fuck, fuck… you’re so tight, Y/N.” He groans, pulling you down nearly all the way— stopping before he reaches the base of his cock, taking a moment to adjust so he doesn’t come before he’s all the way in.
“Mm-“ you whine out, nails digging into the warm muscle on his back, “Harry…”
Once he’s composed himself, he lets your hips sink the down to the base of him. You both take a moment to feel it. Panting, because the heat and the connection you’re both sharing is only describable as euphoric.
“Y’okay?” He sighs out, clutching your waist with firm hands.
“Yes… so fuckin’ full.” You moan out, hole fluttering around his length.
He carefully draws his hips back, pulling out a little only to push it back in.
Just that small movement has you reeling. And you’re quick to realise that this is probably going to be the best sex you’ve ever fucking had.
“Look at that, your cunt swallowing me up. So fuckin’ hot.” He whispers, slowly starting to pick up the pace.
His fingers move to play with your clit, and he notices the reaction that courses through your body the second he rolls it between his fingers.
You buck your hips against him, and he brings his lips down to suck on the side of your breast.
“Mark me.” You encourage, wanting him to leave you with bruises from his mouth.
“Dirty thing,” he moans, fucking up into you, “so fucking wet too. All f’me isn’t it?”
The dirty talk causes you to clench around him, and he picks up on it.
“Jesus, you really are? Like when I say dirty stuff too, clearly.” He grunts.
“Yes, fuck! Please touch me.” You ask, needing to feel more of him, to the point it consumes your senses.
He touches you almost everywhere, with his hands, lips, tongue. All over your body until you genuinely can’t think of anything else.
It leaves your body shaking, and he can tell you’re not going to last much longer going by the clenching of your cunt.
“I’m gonna come if you keep squeezing around me like tha’.” He curses, keeping a fast pace with his hips as you feel the beginning of your high approaching.
It starts to bubble up in the pit of your stomach, “God— you’re so deep.”
“Yea, love? Feel me all the way up here?” He splayed his hand on your lower abdomen and you nod.
“Gonna come soon… please.” Your thighs are going weak from trying to hold your body up, and he notices, flipping you around so he’s on top of you.
The new angle has you biting down on your palm to try and stop yourself from crying out.
“Taking it so well. M’not far off either, baby.” He groans, his thrusts faltering as he bottoms out.
He pushes two fingers past your lips, allowing your tongue to swirl over them before he is removing them. Taking them down to rub over your swollen clit.
The added stimulation is what’s going to tip you over the edge.
“H—fuck—Harry! I’m gonna come!” You moan out, nails scraping down his bicep.
“Good fucking girl,” he prompts, fingers flicking over your clit, “let it all go for me, gush all over my cock.”
His words send you spiralling. And they’re the final push you need before your cunt clamps down around him with a loud moan tearing out of you.
“Fuckfuckfuck!” You’re writhing around him, and he curses at how tight you’re clenching him.
“That’s it, keep fucking going— ride it out on me.” He hisses, hips finally faltering as he feels his cock come inside of you.
Twitching between your warm walls as his stomach muscles contract and ripple with the intensity of his release.
He near buckles on top of you, his body weight pressing against you. And The two of you are panting, still shivering out slight aftershocks of your orgasms.
His forehead rests against yours, and you lean forward to brush a kiss against his parted lips.
Gently, he pulls himself out. A tiny hiss coming from his lips at the sensitivity.
He rolls over, bringing you to lay down on top of him. And you feel the partial heaving of his damp chest below you.
“Thank you…” You mumble out, sounding almost shy.
He picks up on it, “Don’t sound so nervous, darling. Y’were amazing.”
This brings a smile across your lips. It’s safe to assume that maybe things around you are complicated. But actually between the two of you, it’s anything but.
You like him, so much. So you just say it.
“I like you, Harry.”
And he affirms your statement with a kiss to your temple, and says quietly, “I like you too, Y/N. A lot.”
And this feels like an unspoken agreement that maybe the media is only going to get more riled up about the two of you as time goes on, but what you have is something genuinely worth fighting for.
Plus… they already know so, what’s the worse that could really happen now?
———
that was a long one!! hope you all loved it, and thank you so much for the support on this series. and don’t worry, you will definitely still be seeing more of them in the future. 🤍
taglist:
@harrystylesgirlie @purple9950 @teamspideyman @rociolunaa21 @spiritofbuddha @lemonhrry @deamus-liv @Iquvlly @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @hsfanficsrecss @hsstylesrings @saturnheartz @victoriasigaard @lilfreakjez @mrsvxder @skxawngs @theekyliepage @hannah9921 @shiffpring @multifandomsw @roslastyles420 @slutforcoffein @kittenhere @stylesfever @butterfly-lover @daniizstyles @padf00ts-l0ver @sunflowervol18 @laurxn-robinson @kkr102 @superlegend216 @jerseygirlinca @cherrysulewski
+ all the anons who sent stuff to my submission box, thank you to you guys too, all my love
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eveningepiphany · 7 months
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Hey!! I’m just wondering when part 4 of “welcome to the final show” will be posted? Also, I love your writing smmm
hi love, it’s still being written but I would say by the end of the week! I am horrible at following deadlines I give myself but we’re having faith this time it’ll actually come out over the next couple of days!
so excited for you all to read it tho, buckle up 😝
and thank you so much for your support and kind words, I adore you!
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eveningepiphany · 7 months
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hi i love your work, i was wondering when the third part is coming out?
i hope you’re having an amazing day 🩷
thank you so much for your support lovely, she’s officially out now and I’m so excited for you to finally have it x
you can read it here 🫶
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