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harryspet · 4 years

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caged bird | s.rogers, p.parker & b.barnes

[Warnings] dark!steve rogers x reader, dark!peter parker x reader, dark!bucky barnes x reader, polyamory, prison au, noncon/dubcon sex, this plot scenario is very unrealistic but oh well, reader makes a deal so she can survive, hella manipulation, dominants/submissive, oral sex (male recieving), hella angst, shower sex, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

A/N: this is like a really f’d up situation so enjoy :):):) i also wrote this over the span of two weeks so i’m sorry if the pacing is weird and (also x2) this is nowhere near canon

In which you have to make a deal with three devils in order to survive in The Cage.

word count: 4.8k

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Your eyelids were heavy though the bright light outside the bus was forcing you awake. Your limbs shackled to the seat, it reminded you that you had lost your freedom so quickly and that you’d probably never have a good night of sleep ever again, “How long?” Your mouth was dry, the heat from the wasteland you were driving through crept through the window.

“Twenty minutes, princess,” Officer Rumlow looked you over for the millionth time like you were fresh meat ready for the slaughter. His perceptions weren’t far off and that’s what scared you the most. You weren’t cut out for a place like the Cage.

A week ago you thought this place was fictional, a nightmare tale that was used to scare the new employees. It was still a nightmare but you were now living in it. You thought your heart might explode out of your chest as the facility finally came into view. Five stories of complete concrete surrounded by two, hundred-foot fences and surrounded by a barren wasteland.

You were the only one on the bus. The Cage rarely received new inmates due to the nature of crimes that the prison was built for. Vigilantes and government traitors. Many used to consider them heroes but they were unregulated and dangerous. That's how they ended up here and, your boss, Alexander Pierce had sold you out to save himself.

“When … W-When am I going to get my phone call?” You asked as the bus entered the gates of the prison, finally stopping at the processing center.

Rumlow chuckled, walking over to unchain your shackles from the floor of the bus, “Who are you going to call, princess? Mommy and Daddy?” He grabbed you roughly by your upper arm, pulling you out of your seat and dragging you down the steps of the bus.

You refused to accept that you had been erased. Your parents probably thought you were only missing, not that you had been wrongly accused of betraying the government and had been thrown into the most dangerous prison in the country.

“They can’t do this,” You winced as your arm stung, “No trial. No jury. T-This is illegal!”

Rumlow ignored you, and you had to pick up your pace in order to not fall down. Your eyes wandered around, the sun nearly blinding you and stinging your skin at the same time. You noticed in the distance a group of male inmates standing behind a wired fence, wearing the same navy jumpsuit as you, and even from far away, you could see cold and hungry glances.

You thought you were lucky for a minute since you were a woman but then you remembered what kind of women probably lived here. As you were brought inside, past several guards, through metal detectors and pat-downs.

When you got to the body cavity search, you expected to part way with Rumlow. Standing in a small, cold room, Rumlow stood in the doorway with his hands casually in the pockets of his pants, “Undress, inmate,” Your eyes widened and you quickly crossed your arms, “Slowly, if you don’t mind.”

“I-I do mind,” You said quickly, “I’m supposed to have a female officer-”

“You don’t get those kinds of privileges in the Cage. We don’t separate inmates by gender,” You shook your head as your eyebrows began to furrow.

“That’s insane-”

“Undress, inmate,” He said more sternly this time, “Or would you like me to do it for you? You’re lucky I don’t make you put on a show for the rest of the guards.”

You shook your head again, tears starting to form in your tired eyes, “Please don’t-” You tried to plead with him but, as you did, you watched him reach for his baton, “Okay, okay!”

Rumlow smiled a wicked smile, “Good. Bend over and cough, inmate. Let me see that cute, little ass of yours.”

When you finally got to see a female officer, she was escorting you to your cell. In your hands, you held the rest of your life which included one more set of clothes, bedding, and a toothbrush. You had to eat what the prison provided and you could only earn extra commissary from working. Hela tried to explain everything to you but you were only latching onto every other world.

You walked along a slim passageway which had cells to the right and a metal railing to the left. There were three floors of cells and they seemed to go all the way around in a circle. Passed the railing and in the middle of the dome was where it seemed most of the inmates were gathered.

The shouting, laughing, and fighting echoed through the dome and you couldn’t help but think those calls were for you. You could barely carry your bag of things and walk straight without stumbling. If they couldn’t send your weakness from your appearance then they’d surely sniff it out soon.

“This can’t be allowed,” You whispered to Officer Hela, though her dark hair mixed with the look of death in her eyes didn’t scream “empathy” to you, “There has to be some sort of rule-”

She stopped in front of an empty, six by eight-foot cell which told you that this would be your new home, “You can sit in solitary if you like,” She spoke coldly, “Your meals get brought to you and you don’t have to deal with the animals in here but there’s no time outside. It’s easy to lose track of the days and forget which voices are real and which ones are inside your head. If you prefer to go insane before you die then I’d recommend that route.”

There wasn’t much of a choice to make and you found your feet moving before your brain could register. You stepped inside the cell, setting down your things on the bottom bunk, “A girl like you is going to need to latch onto a group, pledge your allegiance, and do not let them question your loyalty. They live by a different code here and following it is life or death, do you understand?”

You slowly nodded as you listened and part of you was grateful that she wasn’t completely cold, “T-Thank you-”

She scoffed, “Such a precious little thing … I give you a week,” With that, she turned on her heel and you felt hopeless once again, “I’ll escort you to dinner-”

You shook your head, “I’m not hungry.” You were actually starving but you could not yet face the beast.

She only shrugged and pulled the door closed. The light above you flickered and you stared back down at your bunk. You were holding back your tears as you tried to make up your bed. Staring at the flimsy mattress material only made you more depressed so you decided just to lay down. Facing the wall, your tired eyes roamed over what was scribbled on the walls.

S.H.I.E.L.D. is evil.

S.H.I.E.L.D. is corrupt.

You hated that the words initially sent a wave of anger through you. You hated that you still felt loyal to that group of monsters. You were a low level worker with good standing and they had just sent you to die?

With your face tucked into your arm, you cried yourself to sleep.

The next day you had no choice but to face your fears. You couldn’t go any longer without food and, in a place like this, you needed to keep your energy up. Before the sun was even out, you heard the mechanical click of the cell door. Your favorite officer, Rumlow, made sure to stop by your cell during roll call.

“So you decided on general population,” He popped the gum he was chewing, looking you over, “I’m sad to hear it, I was gonna visit you every day in solitary but I guess we’ll get some alone time soon enough.”

You scowled at him and a shiver went through you as he continued pass your cell. You were now grateful that you had chosen general population.

That feeling didn’t last as inmates started moving from their cells down to breakfast. You stayed back, waiting to slip out of your cell when the crowd had passed. You lingered in the back of the line but no one seemed to notice you until you were in the kitchen line. The first reaction was a quiet murmur that went through the group of (mostly) men at the sight of you.

You didn’t quite match anyone's stature, not even the women. At least they looked like they could take care of themselves. You were sure that your face probably had dark circles and sunken in features. You looked down when you felt someone's eyes on you and you cringed at every word whispered about you.

“If I could just get my hands on her …”

“I wonder what a little girl like that could’ve done to get in here.”

“I’d be real gentle with her …” “I wouldn’t … I’d make her scream …”

“Move along,” Hela barked at the inmates in the line. You tried to tune them out as a staff member handed you your tray of food. A stale piece of toast, plastic-looking eggs, peaches, and what looked like could be oatmeal.

It was when you turned away that you felt a pinch on your bottom. You turned around quickly only to find yourself staring at a chest rather than a face. As you looked up, a man with long, dark black hair stared down at you, “Aren’t you adorable?”

“I said move along, inmates,” You looked towards Hela for some sort of help but didn’t receive any.

When you looked back again, the man had disappeared. You shook it off, figuring that was the least of what you were about to experience today. As you stepped out into the middle of the dome, you remembered the advice that Hela had managed to give you.

There were cliques formed at each circular, metal table and you looked each one over as you walked past them. Again, people stared and said vile things but you spotted a table where two women were sitting. They were much older than you but the look you got from them was not maternal in the least.

“Can I… sit here?” You knew the answer based on their thin-lipped scowls.

You weren’t like any of them … you were fragile. Besides that, you used to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and the organization was responsible for locking half of these people away. You kept walking, eventually finding an empty table to sit at.

All you could think about now was eating. You picked at your tray with your plastic fork, and with each bite of the food you cringed. The toast was also completely rock hard, “It helps if you dip it in water,” Your head snapped up as you felt a shadow over you before someone took a seat beside you.

You weren’t expecting someone so young and you certainly weren’t expecting a friendly smile. You stared at the handsome man with your mouth agape. You hadn’t realized what he meant until you looked back down at the bread in your hands, “Oh … I doubt anything would make this edible-”

He ran his hand through his light brown hair, before reaching into the pocket of his jumpsuit. On the table in front of you, he placed a twinkie. The entire room seemed to go quiet for a moment and you realized that everyone was watching the two of you.

“I can’t accept this …”

“Of course you can, it’s no big deal,” His brown eyes pierced into yours as he shrugged, “I’m Peter.”

The sugary, process food was calling your name but you still weren’t sure what his deal was, “T-Thank you,” Not wanting to come off rude, you accepted it, unknowingly beginning to seal your fate, “I’m … I’m-”

“Y/N Y/LN,” He finished for you which left your eyes wide with shock, “You’re already famous. The guards like to gossip and it’s rare we get new inmates so people get curious.”

“Oh,” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“Don’t worry, some people in here care about your charges, how you got here, but not me,” He tried to reassure you, a smile tugging at his lips, “S.H.I.E.L.D. screwed us all and I don’t think there’s a point in playing who’s the better bad guy.”

You looked around. Now that you knew that people knew your charges and your history, you were starting to feel unsettled. The only thing keeping you grounded was him reassuring you that he didn’t care, “How long-” Your voice came out in a whisper, “How long have you been here?”

Peter took a breath as he thought for a moment, “Few years. Now I kinda forget that I was a normal teenager when this all started.”

Years. And he was a teenager when they brought him here? Did they have no limits to their cruelty?

“God,” You breathed out, overwhelmed, “I don’t think I can … do this-”

Peter reached out, placing a calm hand on your arm, “Hey, hey, you have to survive here. Whether you were meant to be here or not, you have to live like this is your reality. Looking like you’re about to vomit is not a good look to everyone else. I saw Loki over there … he’s an asshole touching you like that but it’s because he’s already sniffed you out.”

You nodded, trying to stay calm, “But I don’t know how to look … to look less weak.”

“For one, you’re going to have to start eating more and building some muscle,” You could tell by his grip on your arm that he was quite strong, “And the next time someone disrespects you, you have to stand up for yourself. You also can’t just bark like a little chihuahua. Maybe you could pick someone out, someone that you could win in a fight against.”

As Peter started to scan the room, you immediately started shaking your hand, “I can’t just attack someone,” You whisper-shouted, your eyes wide with worry.

Peter chuckled, “Not with that attitude. Maybe you could go for Heather over there,” He eyed a woman who was practically elderly, “She has a cane so even you could probably overpower though I’ve seen here use the thing as a weapon a few times-”

“Peter,” You spoke sharply, “There has to be another way.”

Peter looked into your eyes and you lost hope for a moment until he seemed to perk up, “I have some friends, we kind of run together in this place, looking out for each other,” Peter explained and you listened intently, hoping for a means of survival that didn’t require attacking an old lady, “I could probably convince them to start looking out for you too. But it won’t be easy, we take loyalty very seriously here, and it wouldn’t be without a cost to you.”

“What sort of cost?”

Peter shrugged, “Could be lots of things. They serve plums on Friday and Bucky loves those so maybe you’d show your support to the group by giving him yours. Something like that,” You followed Peter’s finger as he pointed two men out, one with dark hair and the other with light. Both were built like bodybuilders, “Steve’s a respected leader here and maybe you could help run messages for him.”

You nodded, “T-That sounds fair,” You paused for a moment as the men eyed you, “And for the twinkie? What do you want?”

“Now you’re starting to get it,” Peter grinned, “Eat it and that means you accept our claim. You’re one of us.”

“Can’t I have time to think about it?”

Peter seemed to hesitate for the first time, “I’m sure you won’t get a better offer,” Your face fell, “But sure. I’d be quick about it though. Those big, doe eyes aren’t going to work on everybody.”

The dark-haired one was following you. Loki, Peter called him, hadn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you parted ways with Peter yesterday. He and his greek god, blonde friend were now walking behind you as you made your way through the halls. They were pushing mop buckets, evidently taking a break from their cleaning duty.

You had gotten lost trying to find the hospital wing and now you were paying the consequences.

“Little bird … caged and unprotected,” He taunted you and your heartbeat quickened as you tried to keep from looking back, “Not even the guards want to save her. Poor thing.”

“It seems she’s in need of protecting, brother.”

“Protecting? If I got my hands on her, the last thing I’d think of is being gentle-”

You turned into the first room you passed, expecting to find somewhere to hide but you only seemed to encounter more people. It was the TV room, a staticy old television airing a baseball game was hanging in the corner of the room, and a bunch of men were sitting at different tables.

They all turned their heads to you as you interrupted and you immediately recognized the two men from Peter’s loyal “group”. Bucky and Steve. Your heart was out of your chest at the point and you found yourself whispering a “sorry” before turning back towards the door. Loki and his brother, however, were waiting patiently.

Loki leaned in the doorway, eyeing you like you were fresh meat.

“Is this jackass bothering you, hon?” Your eyes wide with fear, you quickly realized that it wasn’t Loki taunting you. The dark-haired man’s, you remembered Peter calling him Bucky, voice boomed through the room.

You froze.

“Don’t you have toilets to scrub, Laufeyson?” The light hair man with a thick beard spoke, and by the look on his face you could tell he was a man of power. Not so much power-hungry but someone that demanded respect and often received it.

Loki scoffed, looking over you again, “As far as I know, this one is free territory.”

“Well, this room is my territory and guess where she happens to be standing,” Loki’s jaw clenched at Steve’s words.

“C’mere, hon,” Bucky spoke to you, signaling to cross the room. She hesitated but only for a moment as you realized your choices were Peter’s friends or letting Loki, have you. You crossed the room cautiously towards them, everyone now looking at you. You paused awkwardly in front of the table but a small yelp left your lip as Bucky grabbed you by the arm, spinning you into his lap.

“See,” Steve said as you uncomfortably tried your best not to squirm, “Don’t touch things that aren’t yours, Laufeyson.”

You felt a hand clench your thigh and cringed.

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

As soon as Loki stormed away, you stood up, brushing whatever wrinkles had formed in your jumpsuit. Amused, Bucky smiled at you, “You could at least thank us,” Bucky leaned forward and you tried not to scowl.

“Thank you,” You whispered.

“Good girl,” Bucky smirked.

“Lang, get Y/N a chair,” Steve ordered another man in the room. He was quick to obey the command and, even though you were in a new place, you felt you’d been transported into an entirely new planet.

“You don’t have to-”

“Sit,” Steve said as the chair was placed beside you, “You can leave when you give us an answer to the offer Peter mentioned yesterday.”

You had thought long and hard about Peter’s offer and decided last night that you wanted to reject it. It wasn’t until now that you realized your decision was a mistake. There was no telling when you’d be getting out of this place, Peter had been here for years, and it seemed you were already a target.

You’d even heard a rumor that the guards placed bets on how long you’d survive in here.

“Yes …” You nodded your head, “That’s my answer.”

Steve's lips pulled into a small grin as he eyed his friend across the table, “Good choice, doll.”

A week later and you were still alive and relatively untouched. Bucky was quite handsy but Peter reminded you that it was just protocol. Everyone had to know that you were a part of their group and that, if you were harmed, they’d have to deal with Steve and his minions.

Like Peter said, there were quite a few sacrifices you had to make. Your new job in the kitchen allowed you to provide the group with all the food they wanted and when you weren’t working, you were running errands for Steve. You got an idea of all the inmate leaders and how they functioned as a society.

Steve seemed to be at the very top and you realized the possible consequences of crossing someone like him. Still, you felt more pampered than like you were a part of some elaborate prison gang. Most of your wishes were theirs to grant.

They let you watch whatever you wanted in the TV room. Bucky always called you pet names that you were starting to grow fond of. Steve had some pull with the guards so Rumlow was never around to bother you anymore. Peter even found you a set of paints to occupy your time in your cell. As long as you followed them around like their cute little puppy, they were quite nice to you.

“C’mon, run a lap with me. You gotta build your strength,” Peter asked you, his face sweaty and shining under the baking sun. He was shirtless, the shirtsleeves of his uniform wrapped around his waist, and his magnificent physique was on display just like Steve and Bucky’s. During rec time in the courtyard, you’d become accustomed to standing by the fence and watching them lift weights.

“I’m good, thanks,” You smiled awkwardly, “I get tired just from watching you guys.”

“Peter’s right,” Steve let out a breath as he dropped his hundred-pound dumbbell.

“I just …” Your voice trailed off as Steve eyed you with his strong gaze. You knew that what he said goes but you were growing nervous, “I don’t want to get sweaty.”

“You’re serious?” Bucky chimed in, a curious look on his face.

“Is that like a girl thing I don’t know about?” Peter flashed you an amused look and your cheeks began to heat with embarrassment.

“Y/N?” Steve could see that you were hiding something.

You crossed your arms, sighing, “I just don’t want to have to shower, okay?”

“You haven’t showered since you’ve been here?” Peter asked incredulously.

“I have!” You quickly defended yourself, “I mean, I’ve just been using the sink in my cell.”

“I see what this is about,” Bucky had a knowing look on his face, “Dollface is scared of the communal showers.”

Peter’s mouth formed the shape of an “o” as he realized what was going on. You still felt so embarrassed. It was yet another thing that made you seem totally defenseless.

“Is that true?” Steve asked and you were beginning to feel overwhelmed by their concerned gazes, “Why didn’t you tell us? Next time, one of us will keep watch for you. No one’s gonna bother you.”

Maybe it was the isolation or the fact that your life would never be the same again. Maybe it was the fact that you’d never see your family again or that you cried yourself to sleep every night. That might be the reason you felt that they genuinely cared for you and why you wanted to fully embrace the comfort that they were providing.

Maybe that was why you wanted to belong to them.

For the first time, you were reminded of your old life. You weren’t sure how long you’d lost yourself under the water, letting time get away from you, as the warm water cascaded along your skin. The showers had a sorry excuse for water pressure and, despite the creepiness of the beige tiles and flickering light above, when you closed your eyes you were in paradise.

“All clean, beautiful?” Bucky’s voice brought you out of your trance. Suddenly you were back in the square room with showerheads lining each wall. You wiped the water from your eyes before turning off the water.

“Y-Yes, I’m almost done!” You shouted back, grabbing your towel from off the hook. You pressed it to your face, drying your skin. You were quite grateful that they’d taken the extra steps to make you feel protected, “Bucky-”

As you turned around, that feeling of gratitude quickly turned to something resembling fear. He was supposed to wait for you outside the bathroom and yet, there he was, only three feet away from you.

“What are you-”

He looked over you hungrily and you pressed your towel closer to your body, “You have no idea how long it's been since I’ve been with a beautiful woman like you … Steve too. And Peter, he’s just learning the ropes.”

You took a step back, towards the wall, and as you did you caught a glimpse behind Bucky’s towering figure. Both Steve and Peter were here, stalking closer.

“You said you’d protect me…” Your voice cracked, your hands beginning to shake.

“We will,” Steve spoke, determined, “No one else but us will touch you.”

“Nothing in here is without a cost, Y/N,” Peter seemed a bit solemn like his current life was not what he wanted it to be but he was just as hungry, if not more, as Bucky.

Bucky grabbed you then, his eyes impatient, and you wrestled for your towel for only a moment before he easily snatched it away from you. A helpless squeal left your mouth as he grabbed you by the arm with one hand and placed his other hand between your legs. He grabbed your thigh tightly and as his hand moved further up, you found yourself paralyzed.

“Good girl. You’re going to take all of us,” Bucky spoke quietly, shushing you, his grip growing tighter and tighter. Before you knew it, all three of them were surrounding you, their curious hands wandering over your wet skin. Grabbing your breast, your thighs, turning your face to bite at your neck.

“Get on your knees,” Steve grunted against your ear, growing impatient like his friend.

When you didn’t move, Peter was the one to push you down onto the cold floor. You hiccuped, trying not to hyperventilate as they overwhelmed you from each side. As they all started to pull down their clothes, you made one final attempt at trying to crawl away.

Steve grabbed you by your throat, making your efforts futile, pushing your face towards his crotch. You felt it, hard and throbbing against your cheek, “Open up, don’t make this hard, doll,” Through the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky stroking his own length, waiting patiently for his turn.

Steve grabbed you by your hair next, pressing your closed lips against his tip. He forced himself in your mouth, “There you go,” Steve grunted, pushing himself deeper, “Move that tongue around.”

Steve Rogers could make your life a living hell in the Cage. Was this really the price you had to pay in order to survive here? You couldn’t imagine it being any worse than this but Steve could make that possible. That’s why you started to swirl your tongue like he said, deciding that their orgasms would end your pain.

Bucky was much rougher than Steve, pinching your nose closed and enjoying watching your eyes widen and water. He practically touched the back of your throat and still commanded you to stroke Peter and Steve’s cocks with your hands while you took him in your mouth. Somehow, you managed.

Peter was much more gentle and you were grateful for that. His hands rested softly on the back of your head, guiding your mouth slowly up and down his length, “God, this is awesome,” He cursed, his head tilting back as he enjoyed the stimulation. When he finally finished, his warmth filled your mouth and before you could spit or catch your breath, Bucky grabbed you again.

He came so far down your throat that you were forced to swallow it but, unlike him, Steve took his time, “This little mouth. Is ours. Every single hole. Is ours. No one else, do you understand?” With each sentence, he thrust hard until he filled your mouth. You leaned over, coughing as you felt the stinging of your sore throat.

You were about to collapse onto the dirty cold floor when gentle arms lifted you up into a broad chest. You found yourself not fighting, only pressing your face into Bucky’s chest as you began to sob.

Steve didn’t have to say anything more. You understand your new position and there wasn’t anyone else there to save you from that fate.

That night you learned there was a change to your cell assignment. You’d sleep in Steve’s arms, a little bird that was safe and protected in it’s cage.

hope you enjoyed!! i’m posting this instead of sleeping because I have class in this morning :)

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wh6res · 4 years

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dreams come true | yuta

"soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks." — ny

[ part of the my bloody valentine collection ]

tw. gore, blood, murder, death, killings, mentions of illegal organ trafficking, violence, mentions of stalking, minor character deaths, weapons (a knife and a gun), almost (??) suggestive content but nothing happened

disc. this is rlly fucked up and yuta is unredeemable. i dont condone such acts. this is all a work of fiction and meant to entertain.

wc. 5k

every time you sleep, the void is sickening. it was all you could see, lightyears and lightyears away of pitch black that made your head dizzy and your stomach dry heave. you've always wondered when you'll start dreaming about your soulmate's memories. they were like little secrets, another way for two people to be intimate without even being together. their days were flashing before their soulmate's eyes in the form of a dream. it's as if you spent the day with them!

you loved it, the whole concept of it. it sounded so wholesome and sweet and jesus fucking christ, you've always been such a hopeless romantic.

it was sweet until it turned sour. you loved it until you hated it. it was romantic until it turned downright terrifying.

you wake up covered in cold sweat, panting and gasping as if you've run a whole marathon.

moonlight seeps through your glass window, slightly left ajar for the midnight breeze to pass through – you walk up to it, pull it shut, and draw your thick curtains together. you exhaled, breath shaking as you tried to anchor yourself back to the ground.

with the only source of your light disappearing, darkness envelops you whole. for once, you craved the void. you want that void back if it meant never seeing something like that again – something straight out of your worst nightmare.

"119, what's your emergency?"

"uhm, i think… i think i just witnessed a massacre."

you reiterate everything you saw in the dream – the mahogany door, paint chipping off the drywalls. the doorknob was rusty, so were the hinges, and it made an ominous creak when pushed open. the light switches on, the first you see was a bunch of dirty ice coolers in what should've been the living room, it wasn't even the slightest bit organized. they were everywhere, and the floor looked grimy and disgusting, like there's a stain they can't seem to scrub off. only when your soulmate has stalked closer did you see the labels haphazardly taped on top of the ice coolers.

kidneys. livers. lungs. pancreas. intestines – you nearly vomited on the floor, trying to relay everything you saw to the operator on the other end of the call.

then came the gruesome parts.

their deaths.

they were five people in total. men clad in cheap t-shirts and pants, wearing all these similar leather jackets. some were well-built, ripped in the arms and thighs, but some were skinny, the jackets hanging on their small frames.

they never stood a chance against him.

your soulmate is agile, quick on his feet with outstanding eye-hand coordination. only equipped with a butcher's knife, but it was all he needed to take them down and send them knocking on inferno's gates. he was skilled, knowing when to pounce and where to slash his knife to maim but never to kill. by the time your soulmate was through with them, everything is bloody red. all the victims' eyes widened as they sputtered and choked on their blood – not dead, but dying...

because your soulmate wasn't done yet.

a killer should have a modus operandi, should they not? so he took out a desert eagle, stood before the bleeding bodies, and shot two bullets straight into their eyes. the finishing touch? carving a frown on their faces with his butcher's knife.

the operator only told you one thing after she's made you describe the place for them to track the crime scene down.

"double-check all your windows and doors."

because you couldn't be too sure, not when you have been granted a front seat to the sad face slayer's most recent endeavors.

the detective eyes you with a certain pity. maybe that's why you don't bother meeting his eyes. you sit still on a chair, camera blinking red behind him, the interrogation room is freezing even with the thick jacket you're wearing.

seven billion people in the world and you're soulmate's a ruthless serial killer who took it upon himself to purge the world of evildoers – he was playing god, no wonder the detective is looking at you like that.

"uhh…" he's awkward, fidgeting in his seat. "and you saw this all in a dream?"

"yes."

you've known him only minutes ago. mark lee was his name and he seems to be a subordinate of a higher, more experienced detective named kim doyoung. you don't know whether to feel offended or not for having a doe-eyed newbie taking care of the case, but you pushed it at the back of your mind, knowing his superior is watching on the other side of the two-way mirror.

"did you have, like, other past instances where you dreamt of him? of what he…" mark looked like he was going to throw up. "what he does to his other victims?"

you shook your head. no. "i've mostly just heard of him on the news. i don't think i have the stomach to find out in-depth what the killer does."

mark takes out a folder, features walking the fine white line between looking apologetic or wanting to say me too. "i'm, uhh, really sorry to hear that."

there's a sudden pregnant silence encapsulating the interrogation room. it felt like you were mourning for something, the chains of dread dragging your heart to the ground as it pounded against your ribcage. mark looked like he wanted to say something, but you swore his eyes darted towards the camera in the corner and decided otherwise.

"anyway…" he trails. flipping the folder open in one swift motion. "past sightings have given us the sad face slayer's name."

he slaps down a picture of a man, his hair raven and a permanent scowl etched on his face. the quality was shitty. it looked like it was a screenshot taken from zoomed-in cctv footage.

"nakamoto yuta, twenty-five, japanese, and has slipped one too many times past authorities that at this point, it's practically a talent."

and just like that, it made sense why you're here.

your lips pursed in contemplation, palms quaking as your fingers reach forward to inspect your soulmate's picture. "and… you want to use my soulmate connection –" you glowered. never had a sentence sounded so fucking cursed and utterly wrong. "– to catch him?"

mark can't look you in the eye. "yes. he's very elusive. his killings have been happening cross-country and, as you can see, have garnered national media attention. the police are hanging by a thread here. a month in his case and all we got is his MO, name, and that he has this weird god complex on him. if we can't catch him by the end of next month…" he shrugs. "the feds are going to interfere, sooner or later."

"so…" you trail, urging him to continue.

"so, we need as much information about him as we can get and your dreams about him will be able to provide that."

fucking great.

the much newer revelations of precisely who it was on the other end of the soulmate connection put a significant damper on your mood. you'd like to think your new little cop buddy who follows you around gives you the least bit sense of security, but alas, it doesn't. not when you've seen first hand how yuta took down five men all at once without breaking a fucking sweat – you absolutely refuse to call him your soulmate, you'd never accept a person with his nature as a soulmate.

you try to hide the bracelet mark handed you last two weeks ago, during your time spent in the precinct's interrogation room.

"please have this on you at all times until we catch him, okay? this is for extra measures, just in case something happens to the cop assigned to guard you. just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?"

considering you're now probably being hunted alive for snitching on a serial killer? mark lee, that was not funny at all.

"do you have to get inside the lecture with me?" you whine, shielding your face with your hair when you notice people shooting glances at the rather handsome cop they assigned to you. "it's not like he'll attack in broad daylight! and in a fucking classroom, for that matter."

jaehyun looks just about ready to hurl you out the window. "lower down your voice," he scolds. "serial killers don't pick a time and place, sweetheart. he kills when necessary and if it's fucking necessary to murder everyone in that classroom to get to you? he'll do it in a fucking heartbeat."

you sigh when the chair next to you screeches against the floor, the aforementioned male taking his seat right next to you. jaehyun felt more like a babysitter than a cop, who seems to have a habit of constantly inputting his not-even-needed opinions on the most superficial things.

are witness protection protocols like this?

it was a good thing that overgrown bat doesn't come hanging around in your apartment, but he does have the police car parked right across the building's entrance. judging by how meticulous and thorough he seems to be, he won't miss any face that comes in and out of the building.

you didn't forget exactly why you're under witness protection. for the cops to waste one good officer to follow you around, you needed to be valuable and being valuable meant sleeping through nightmare-induced dreams of what your soulmate does for a living. the scenes are so gruesome, so graphic and utterly gory, that you dart towards the bathroom first thing after waking up in cold sweat, draining all of dinner down the toilet bowl.

after dreaming of him in action a few times, you've now completely understood what detective lee had said regarding yuta's god complex. it was unsightly, yet there was a twisted sense of heroism to it. if there's one thing, he only gutted the bad guys – but that didn't make nakamoto yuta any less of a bad guy, himself.

i need to ask you a favor [sent 2:05am]

JJH: what? [received 2:10am]

often the nightmares were too much. too much that you thought of escaping its horrors by never getting a wink of sleep ever again – until you realized you're a witness and is probably the only chance for the seoul police department to catch that bastard.

buy me sleeping pills? [read 2:08am]

when you peep out of the window, you find an empty spot across the road where jaehyun usually parks the police car. twenty minutes later, you answer the knocking on your door. he used that little "code" he did for you to know it was him. jaehyun was glowering and muttering about how he wasn't some errand boy when he shoved the plastic bottle in your hand yet, you still thanked him nonetheless.

the pills worked like a charm. you managed to stay asleep throughout the whole night, ceasing those episodes of yours where you jolt awake in the middle of dreaming about the sad face slayer's memories.

life continued for you. it became a little bearable, but that didn't mean the horrific murders you see in your dreams are something you can get used to – you don't think you'll ever get used to the sight of him slashing his victims, the blood trickling like a goddamned waterfall.

today the dreams were different. anticlimactic, per se, if you compare it to the violence so utterly present in his memories.

the first you see were black gates, then it shifted to him ordering coffee in a café (amazing what a simple black mask can hide). it switched to him walking on a sidewalk, then he arrives at his destination, an apartment building – it wasn't too rundown, nor was it extravagant.

the serial killer takes the elevator and walks up to a mahogany door –

your room number is a blaring sight.

you couldn't be wrong, not when the 506 with the missing zero in the middle was a sight you saw every day, going and coming home from university.

that was your front door.

he was at your front door.

you jolt awake, ignoring the icky feel of sweat making your clothes cling onto your skin. ice creeps up your spine and freezes you over when you notice with a sinking realization.

those black gates are from the university you attended. that café is your favorite study nook. and that sidewalk is a route you take every day.

you clamp your hands on your mouth as tears roll down your cheeks in rivulets. you pull the comforters up above your head, fear gripping onto you with a vice-like grip as you sob.

it was in the dead of night, moonlight grazing the confines of your room and hours away from dusk. you finally utter those three words in a frightened whisper.

"he's stalking me."

as if having the overgrown bat jaehyun following and annoying you around wasn't enough, you now have another person keeping watch over you. mark lee, unlike jaehyun, may not be as ripped with muscle, but you heard from your cop buddy that the young detective has a few black belts under him. people at the precinct said that if they have to choose one person who can ever come close to the sad face slayer's agility, mark lee's your guy.

"you gotta be shitting me," you mutter, leaning close to jaehyun to whisper like high school girls talking about gossip. "he doesn't look the type!"

jaehyun, in turn, plays along and copies you. "yeah, true. he gets that a lot, i think,"

"guys, i'm literally in the back seat. i can hear everything."

the change hadn't been too drastic. at least mark was there when jaehyun proved to be difficult, pulling him towards the other way when the older male tried waltzing into your class again. "you don't need to sit next to her in her class! are you serious? there's one exit and entrance and we're on the fifth floor. breaking into that classroom will be the end of nakamoto's serial killer career!"

you shoot mark an appreciative smile, one he quickly returned before hauling jaehyun around the hallway. "we'll just be at the canteen, okay? press the 'lil button on your bracelet and we'll be right there!"

shaking your head with a slight smile on your face, you entered the classroom, sat in your usual spot, and did some of your readings from our other class to kill time. you hardly hear the screech of the chair next to you as it was pulled back. not like you cared much for whoever sat down next to you, but you can't deny there's that feeling of missing jaehyun when he used to force his way into the lecture.

"settle down! settle down, people!"

the professor enters and the class begins.

you were meticulous with your note-taking system. it's thorough, leaving no room for information to slip you. having already printed hard copies of the powerpoint presentation and simply jotting down some extra key points mentioned by your professor.

you were just about to raise your hand for a question when you feel something warm graze past your arm. you absentmindedly look down.

the breath is sucked right out of your lungs.

hi, soulmate

there, scribbled with an ominous red crayon on a small piece of paper. it was almost laughable how innocent it looked but when you follow the ring-clad hand, up the black hoodie he's wearing, and finally to his face—

"hi! i'm yuta."

his cheshire smile spikes up your heartbeat. it makes you want to throw up, makes you want to slam your head against the desk. the fight or flight hormone you have is making you restless, eyes pinned on the serial killer sitting next to you, scared that if you avert your gaze, he's going to take out that desert eagle and shoot you until your skull caves in and the bullets in his magazine empties.

"but judging by your reaction, i don't think introductions are needed, hm?" his tone is easy, conversational even and it shoots a freezing jolt of fear right up your spine. it makes you sweat profusely because you don't fucking know what to do, your thoughts in complete and utter disarray.

"just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?" you swallow, sneakily pressing the button without breaking eye contact with the serial killer sitting in front of you.

"look upfront. now." yuta orders and you nearly snap your neck as you turn your head with lightning speed.

"i thought i was above the soulmate rules, but here we are. my soul is either too tainted or too great to be tied to such trivial things, but oh well, we learn to work with what we have. surprisingly, i learned to like dreaming about how your day went."

you feel something sharp poking at your thigh and when you look down, he has a silver butterfly knife pointed against you. the precision of the angle he held it with doesn't slip your notice. one slice of that knife, no matter how small, and he'll be spilling your guts in this classroom.

a fat tear rolls down your face.

"can you imagine how much my heart broke when i learned you were spying on me? leaking information to that snobby detective? to those incompetent cops? bad baby, that was very bad of you."

"yuta—"

"you think the cops can save you from me?"

his other hand comes in contact with the nape of your neck, holding your head in place as he leaned down to invade your space. he scoffs, and you can picture that terrifying cheshire grin you've seen one too many times in your dreams.

the knife digs through your coat, the tip hardly poking your skin only because he doesn't want to drive it into you yet. how did he even manage to get inside the university? not to mention the weapons he possessed? shouldn't anyone be suspicious when they see a man dressed in all black, clad in jeans and a hoodie, into a university—

he even dressed the part. with that hood drawn up and carrying that one notebook, he looked fairly normal. someone who can easily blend in with the crowd.

you eye your professor, willing him to look at you but your soulmate is having none of that. you squirm when he drives the knife further, at the base of your stomach. with his other hand, he twirls a lock of hair around his finger. "now, now, soulmate. you don't want half the people here to get hurt, do you? unless... that can easily be arranged—"

"no!" you whisper, head jerking to the side to look at him humming in satisfaction. damn. out of all the faces he's seen contorted with fear, yours is his absolute favorite. with those pleading, glassy eyes and parted lips, yuta is tenting in his sweats.

"thought so," he chuckles. "let's get up. we're leaving. that old crook doesn't care if students just up and went in the middle of his lecture."

you don't want to think about how he even knew that because it implied attending the lectures a good amount of times. it's with sinking realization that jaehyun was right. if it weren't for him insisting to sit next to you, nakamoto yuta would've long gotten you in his claws.

you tried gathering your things until he purred into your ear.

"ah, ah, ah. you wouldn't be needing those with where we're going."

the hallways were empty, not that you had much time to scream for help when he had a knife pointed up your back, shoving you into the fire escape stairs. within the tranquil confines of the staircases, the sad face slayer couldn't fucking care less for your personal space.

he disgusts you greatly, he needn't do anything but stand there in front of you but you can already smell the long blood trail from his path. it reeks of rotting flesh and that infuriating god complex he had left a sour aftertaste.

"you know, i genuinely wanted to get to know you," yuta pouts, shaking the hoodie off his head. his hair raven, it's ends kissing the nape of his neck. he looked like he came right out of a shounen manga but the bloodlust in his eyes is something that can never be masked. "i detested the soulmate connection at first, i thought i should just kill you off because you could be my loose end."

his humorless smile is enough to give you nightmares.

"but seeing how sweetly normal and untainted you are made me hold back," the butterfly knife appears before your line of sight, yuta teasingly dragging the tip right down your cheek to trace your tears. "so, why did you snitch, baby?"

you shiver when he noses the side of your neck, inhaling your scent as his other hand hooks underneath your top, freezing fingers making you jolt. when you don't reply, his patience starts to dwindle. then again, he was never a patient man.

"answer me, you bitch. why did you rat me out?" gone is the playful lilt in his voice. the vibrations surge through you as his deep, demanding voice scares you shitless.

you feel, hear, and smell him everywhere. this wasn't like any nightmare. this is real, and you won't magically wake up on your bed, sighing in relief, knowing he isn't there, that it was all just in your head. no, this was very much real and there's absolutely no escape.

"i didn't," your voice cracks. "i didn't mean to—"

"bullshit!" he yells. you wail in pain when he slams you against the wall, head aching as it came in contact with concrete. "because of you betraying me, i nearly fucking got caught, and i never get caught!"

you were full out sobbing at this point, noisy and unsightly as the snot mixes with your tears. your only hope now is he gives you a quick, painless death and that he doesn't carve and mutilate your face like what he always does to his other poor victims. "i'm sorry! please... i'm so sorry. i was scared—"

he coos mockingly, tilting his head to the side as he inched his face closer. "aw, scared? my sweet little soulmate was scared?" he places the blade flat against your neck. as humiliating and degrading as it was, you almost peed on your clothes. "how about now? i'm sure as hell that you're fucking terrified for your useless life right now."

you cringe when his hand abandons the expanse of your stomach, no longer inching higher, finding its purchase on the hair sitting at the crown of your head. he holds you in place like that, forcing your head parallel against the wall, with his whole body pressing up to you that it's nearly suffocating.

"just one quick little slice," he taunts. you hiccuped when you feel the feathery light scrape of the blade moving against your skin. "you won't even have time to scream… but i'm sure we don't want that, do we?"

you forgot how to speak. forgot how to breathe. whenever your mind wanders, you've always thought about how you'll give this killer a piece of your mind, with the amount of fear and sorrow he inflicts upon other people. but you guess realities were a lot more different than expectations. the yuta you dreamed of meeting is in handcuffs, but fate is a fickle little thing.

"do we?" he repeats, slicing ever so slightly at your skin. enough to draw blood in droplets, never a waterfall.

"n – no."

he smiles. "you can make it up to me. do you want to make it up to me?"

the butterfly knife digs even further. a warning. and if you value your useless life, you should be smart enough to know what to answer. drawing a shaky breath, you tried forcing the ends of your lips up to a smile. "of course, yuta."

your voice breaks as your sobbing grips your body whole. the fear consuming your entire being like a parasite consuming the host. you would've shut down altogether if it weren't for the calloused hands gently gripping your face. "i know, i know. i see how regretful you are, baby. don't worry, i won't hurt you. you'll make it up to me."

anyone would be fucking stupid if you believe those words coming from a serial killer.

in your wrecked state, you barely register that he's pushing you down to your knees. skin coming in contact with the freezing linoleum floor as you refuse to look at what his hands are doing. yuta has pocketed his knife. the sound of a belt unbuckling in itself added insult to injury.

you stare blankly at his shoes as he shoves his bottoms down enough for his cock to show. if you squint hard enough, you'll see tiny splatters of blood in the shoelaces. whether or not he feels you're unresponsive, he doesn't show. maybe he doesn't care entirely. he takes one of your hands and used it to wrap around himself. he gasps, sharp, followed by a hiss.

you feel it throbbing and it strengthens the disgust you feel. no way you're going to give him the satisfaction of eye contact when you're already forced to blow this psycho.

"eyes up."

you sniffled, vulnerability present in the tone you speak. "i don't want to. please, don't make me."

if words alone aren't enough for you to follow orders, maybe you'll feel more motivated if held at gunpoint. it's unmistakable, the infamous desert eagle you've only seen in your nightmares. the last thing you ever expected is to be on the side where the bullet comes out.

the barrel is freezing as he digs it into the crown of your head. "soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks."

your eyes looked up then. glaring as the tears rolled down your face. "you're a monster," you mutter under your breath. where you got the confidence to fight back is unknown.

"i've heard that before, be more creative next time," he holds your hair tight in one grip, shoving you forward, eye-level to his throbbing dick. "now… suck, baby."

"freeze!"

you knew that voice, you've been hearing it for the last two weeks. "jaehyun–!"

yuta cuts you off, shoving the gun into your mouth. the safety clicking off resonating in the tranquil room. it's deafening, and it makes you immobile.

"hands up. step away from the civilian." whether or not mark is nervous as he points the gun at the serial killer, he's doing a damn good job of hiding it.

yuta sighs, exasperated as he throws his head back. his raised arms came down to tuck himself back in his jeans, and the action made jaehyun's calm exterior crack. "i said, hands up, asshole!"

"chill out, motherfucker. i'm just trying to wear my pants." the serial killer hisses, glaring at jaehyun over his shoulder.

"mark, call back up already. what are you doing?" jaehyun mutters, side-eyeing the young detective whose gun shakes as he holds it up. the taller cop takes a step forward, eyes never leaving the notorious killer as he addresses you curtly. "(name), come here."

just as you plant your palms to the ground to push yourself up, one of yuta's hands shoves you down quick as lightning. "no. she stays here, with me."

jaehyun scowls, takes another step forward. "and what makes you think i'm going to let that happen?"

"i don't think. i know."

there's a constant ring in your ear as the gunshot temporarily renders you deaf. you've shut your eyes in utter fright, hands shooting up to cover your ears but it was too late. you refuse to open your eyes, you didn't want to see a dead body lying before you, even if it belonged to a heartless serial killer.

but when your eyes fluttered open, it's not yuta bleeding out on the ground.

"no, this can't be – jaehyun!"

it was a bullet straight to the head, no one could've survived a shot like that. his eyes are empty as he stares at you, unblinking, stoic. the color is yet to drown away from his milky complexion. but you can't even manipulate yourself into thinking that jaehyun's still alive. not when his eyes are empty, not when he just looks so lifeless.

it couldn't have been yuta who pulled the trigger.

his weapons were on the ground and the shot rang too fast. the sad face slayer couldn't have crouched down for his gun to shoot the cop, it would've taken too much time. and among the three men, there's only another person holding a weapon, and that was –

"great shot, mark."

the detective smiles, but with the blood splattered on his face, it looked cold. "told ya i've been practicing."

yuta hauls you up by the arms, addicted to how frail your body feels as it collapses against him. he's finally got his little soulmate in his arms. and he will never, ever let you go.

the cops lost – you've lost.

yuta, with a sense of victory coursing through his veins, took the liberty of trailing little pecks down your neck as he mutters, "mine, mine, mine!" but you couldn't care less about his display of mocked affection. not when the other person meant to protect you, turned out to be everything you think he wasn't.

mark must've felt the gravity of your stare as he crouches before jaehyun's bleeding body. grabbing the fallen cop's gun, he took it upon himself to empty the magazine. the lopsided grin he sends you broke your resolve more than yuta ever could.

"i'm sorry. it's nothing personal."

645 notes · View notes

hhjs · 4 years

Text

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary — Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

You accept it.

For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all.

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour. Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe. While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him.

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell.

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose. You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night. See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart.

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.” he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

“I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side.

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous.

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it.

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say.

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

—

Kiss underneath a mistletoe.

��Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right.

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different. Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

—

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh. Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you? "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know. Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

—

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear, "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

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libraryofloveletters · 4 years

Text

Sober Feelings, Drunk Words

In which, Luke returned home lost and alone, he turned to the bottle for help and you for recovery.

Luke Alvez x Reader

Warnings: Fem!reader, self destructive tendencies, consumption and mixing of drugs (sleeping pills) and alcohol, being drunk, the use of alcohol as a coping method, help to induce throwing up and vomit, 2 cuss words lmao, a bit of arguing and sadness (that's it I think ? lmk if I missed anything)

Category: Angst to the max

Word Count: 4.9k

Author’s Note: this hurt my heart to write, I was feeling very angsty for some reason idk :/ didn’t use the whole song either but major thank you to ishi for all her help with this! <3 @iconicc

Major Disclaimer: this is purely fiction, if someone does mix alcohol and pills, call 911. Don't do what y/n did.

Song: Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High ?

----

The mirror's image, it tells me it's home time

But I'm not finished, 'cause you're not by my side

And as I arrived I thought I saw you leavin', carryin' your shoes

Decided that once again I was just dreamin' of bumpin' into you

Home didn’t feel like home anymore.

Luke had been gone for quite a while, he sat in his empty apartment with nothing around except for the tv on the floor. He laid on the floor, his clothes scattered across the room with no intention of being put away anytime soon.

Things didn't feel normal anymore.

There was no will to do anything or even attempt to do so. Luke sat there feeling empty and hopeless. The urge to drink hit him, it wasn't something he indulged in very often but found himself doing a lot more since he returned home.

The journey to the bar felt a lot slower than usual, he took in the sight, smell and sounds around him. A couple on a walk with their dog, a family’s laughter coming from their opened kitchen window, the smell of freshly baked cookies which he could only assume was coming from the bakery he was passing by.

Stepping into the bar, the atmosphere changed. The dull lighting, the smell of cigarettes and booze and the drunk men sitting at the counter aimlessly hitting on the bartender.

“Hey you” the woman behind the counter smiled at him, “your usual?” Luke just nodded, feeling a bit shameful that he had visited so frequently that he now had a usual. She slid a glass over to him, “let me know if you need anything else hun” he mumbled a thanks before picking up the glass.

Okay just one drink and then I'm going home

He thought to himself before downing the contents of the glass. The woman behind the bar, whose name tag he’s now reading for the first time despite being there so often, came back over to him.

“One more or you’re heading out ?” she asked him

“Just bring the bottle over Sherry” he mumbled, she nodded before going to get the bottle

Luke’s head hung low, he poured glass after glass until the bottle was empty. He wasn’t sure what time it was but he couldn't bring himself to get up and leave the bar. “Sherry?” he called out to her, before lifting his head to find an empty bar with Sherry at the other end.

“We’re closing in 10 minutes sweetheart, do you need something ?”

“Could I get one more ?”

“I can’t serve you anymore sugar, bar’s closed. I can get you something to eat if you’d like?” she offered him, he shook his head.

“I’m gonna head out” he fumbled through his pockets, pulling out some crinkled bills and tossing them on the counter.

“I could call a cab if you want ?”

“I’m okay, thank you” he smiled at her before pushing himself up off the bar stool. He stumbled but caught himself on the edge of the bar, he headed out and took a deep breath of air. It was cold but not freezing, he wasn’t that cold considering how much alcohol he had just drank. He stumbled down the street, his hand against the wall to steady himself.

Now it's three in the mornin' and I'm tryin' to change your mind

Left you multiple missed calls and to my message, you reply

"Why'd you only call me when you're high?"

"Hi, why'd you only call me when you're high?"

A woman walked past him, she seemed oddly familiar. Maybe it was her perfume, or perhaps the way she walked, but she reminded him of someone he held close so many years ago.

With his back up against the wall, he fished his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts. The light from his screen was quite literally blinding him because of how bright it was.

Her number was still there.

After so many years, it was still there.

Here's the thing about her, she loved Luke and Luke loved her but they never told each other that. They lost contact after he deployed but little did she know, but he thought about her all the time. When he finally got to lay down, when it was his birthday, whenever the holidays rolled around,

his mind wandered back to her.

When Luke returned home, he got a new phone, a different number but he somehow got to keep everything on his phone. Her number happened to be in there.

Now he wasn’t even sure if she had the same number or if she’d even pick up. All these things crossed his mind before hitting the green button.

Ring

Rin-

“Hello ?” her voice filled his ear.

“Y/n” he whispered

“Who’s this ?” she asked

“Don’t tell me you forgot about me after you just walked past me princesa”

Then and only then, did she realize who was on the other end of the call.

“Luke ?”

“Hi”

“Are you okay ? Where are you ?”

“Uh..” Luke looked around, before answering her “Main and Park, but you know that. You just walked past me”

“What ? I’m at home”

“No no I just saw you, y/n”

“Luke, stay where you are. I’m coming to get you.”

Luke didn't object, he was rather excited to see her. Luke could feel the sleepiness start to set in, he braced himself against the cold brick wall in hopes that it would wake him up.

After what felt like an eternity, the sound of a horn startled him. His eyes snapped up to see a woman getting out her car, he blinked a few times to see y/n making her way over to him. She stood a few feet from him, she wore a pair of sweatpants and a paint covered t-shirt. She hadn’t changed one bit, she was still as beautiful as she was the day he left.

“Hi Luke”

“Hi y/n”

He stepped towards her, she mirrored his actions. Luke’s arms stretched out towards her before she finally closed the gap between them.

God, it felt so good to have her back in his arms.

“Luke, no offence but you literally reek of liquor” she stepped away from him.

“Oh” he pouted

“Let's get you home” her arm looped around his waist helping him walk to her car. Luke stumbled his way into her car, managing to make himself comfortable for the time being.

“What’s your address ?” she looked over at him

“Dunno” he replied

“Can I borrow your phone ?”

“Mhm hm”

She reached over to get his phone, he grabbed her hand and started to fidget with her fingers and the rings on them. She ended up picking up his phone with her other hand and scrolled through to find his address. The drive to his place was short, Luke still fidgeting with the rings on her hand.

“Alright, in we go” she got out and helped him out of the car. Luke fumbled with his keys before she took them and unlocked the door.

The apartment was.. sad.

There was a bed and the tv on the floor but other than that, it was empty. “Home sweet home” Luke stumbled his way to his bed, y/n shut the door before making her way over to Luke who was laying face down on his bed. Rolling him onto his back, he sat up.

“I’m hungry and my feet hurt” he mumbled right as he fell back against his pillows.

“Take off your shoes and I'll find something for you to eat”

You left Luke on his bed as you headed to find something in his empty kitchen. There was a loaf of bread on the counter and some stuff in the fridge that you could put a sandwich together for him. Just the smell of him alone told you he had a lot to drink and you knew he’d be sick if he doesn't eat.

Luke’s footsteps filled your ears until you felt his arms around your waist, hugging you from behind. “Heyyy” he hummed with his chin on your shoulder. “Hey,” you put the sandwich together for him, his hands rubbed your hips.“Come eat” you turned and handed him the plate, he sat on the floor in front of the tv and you made your way over with a glass of water for him.

Luke laughed along at the joke Spongebob made in the show, you smiled at him. He finished and left the plate and glass on the floor.

Men, I tell you.

Luke made his way back to his bed, “stay with me?” he looked at you from the bed, scooting over and making space for you.

You never could say no to him.

Luke rested his head on your stomach and pulled your hand to his hair, you chuckled. Your fingers ran through his hair, tugging slightly as you went, a satisfied hum left his mouth.

“I didn't forget about you” he mumbled, he was half asleep so you didn’t pay much attention to his babbling. “I always remembered you. You got me home princesa” you listened to him talk.

The steadiness in his breathing told you that he was asleep, you shifted his head onto his pillow making him groan. Your weight lifted off the bed and Luke’s eyes opened slightly before a small “stay” left his mouth. “I’m just going to the bathroom” you pushed his hair from his forehead before walking to the plate and glass Luke left. You picked them up before putting the glass in the sink, the plate was in your hand when you opened the trash can.

There was at least a case worth of empty beer cans and a bottle or two of scotch in the trash. Your eyes shifted over to Luke who was peacefully sleeping in his bed.

Maybe he just had friends over.

You brushed off the thought of Luke having an actual issue but the feeling of guilt hit you.

What if something was actually wrong ? He was drunk on a Tuesday night and he didn't even realize it wasn’t you that walked past him.

You made your way back to bed, you sat beside Luke who rolled over to you. His hair had grown out a bit, his curls were starting to show again and he looked so peaceful and so innocent right now, just like how he did when you had first met him. You could never even begin to imagine what he went through when he was away.

Your fingers ran through his hair as he slept, your glaze focused out the window thinking about Luke and everything that had happened to bring you back to him.

Somewhere darker, talkin' the same shite

I need a partner, well, are you out tonight?

It's harder and harder to get you to listen

More I get through the gears

Incapable of makin' alright decisions, and havin' bad ideas

Something rested on his chest, his head was pounding. Luke barely moved enough to see the head of hair on his chest. His hands found the person’s shoulders, he couldn't remember if he had bought someone home from the bar last night.

“Hey, wake up” Luke shook the person gently, not wanting to scare her. “mhm no” she groaned, clinging to his side. Her voice seemed so familiar to him, he shook her again.

“c’mon, don't you have somewhere to be?”

“ugh okay, I'm up” the woman groaned, finally sitting up.

Luke took a moment to look at the woman sitting in front of him, she looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.

It was y/n

“Y/n ?” Luke had a confused expression on his face. “Morning sleepyhead” you replied, laying back beside him.

“Wha- how did you get here?”

“You called me last night, I picked you up and drove you home. You were drunk, do you not remember ?” you glanced at him

The memories of his half asleep confessions of never forgetting you flooded your mind. You chose not to mention anything simply because if he didn't remember calling you, he surely wouldn’t remember saying that.

Luke shook his head before getting up. “God, I have a horrible headache” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I got it” you got up and walked to the kitchen. “Which cupboard has the Tylenol ?” you reached for a cupboard door and went to open it. By the time Luke had looked to see which cupboard was opened, you took a step back.

The cupboard was filled to the brim with liquor, you turned and looked at Luke. “What’s going on Luke ?” he pushed the door closed, “nothing’s happening” you didn’t believe him. You knew Luke better than that, he barely drank but you couldn't blame him or jump to conclusions. You didn't know if he was going through something.

“You should go” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Luke..”

“Y/n, please.. just go”

You looked at him, his back was turned towards you. Opening your mouth to say something, you changed your mind last minute and made your way to the door. You looked at your friend one last time,

“I'm here if you need me Luke” was the last thing you said to him before leaving.

Now it's three in the mornin' and I'm tryin' to change your mind

Left you multiple missed calls and to my message you reply

"Why'd you only call me when you're high?"

"Hi, why'd you only call me when you're high?"

8 missed calls and 7 missed text messages from Luke.

From Luke: hi

From Luke: mis yo

From Luke: y/n

From Luke: r u mad

From Luke: no be mad

From Luke: hell0

From Luke: y yu not ansrweing

The spelling got progressively worse as they came in and he didn’t leave any voicemails, you decided to call him back. The line rang out, you got his voicemail, “Luke, it’s y/n. it’s 8:58 and I'm leaving work now, I got your texts and calls. I’m coming over to check on you. Text me so I know you're okay and I won’t come, okay ? bye”

Your fingers tapped against the wheel as you drove to Luke’s place, every possible situation running through your mind. The last few weeks had been good, he called the day after he kicked you out to apologize, you invited him over to your place and made dinner. The two of you talked and he told you about his time in Iraq. You knew he hadn’t told you everything and you knew he wouldn't, but pushing him to talk wasn't going to do any good.

Luke quit drinking, well at least for the last week and a half. He didn’t want to go cold turkey, and you didn't blame him, you sat with him, stayed up and talked with him, went for walks with him in the middle of the night just to distract him.

You knocked on the front door when you arrived, no answer. “Luke ? it’s me!” you knocked again, no answer. The mailbox sat on the wall beside the door, you stuck your hand in and felt around, you pulled out a key and unlocked the door.

“Hun? Are you home?” you called out, shutting the door and making your way further into the house. Luke’s head rested on the armrest of his couch, his hair all of the place. “Luke ?” you called once more before making your way over to him. He was asleep, two empty bottles of vodka on the floor in front of him. You sighed, your hand rested on his cheek.

Things had been going so well, what happened ?

“Wake up” you shook his shoulder, Luke stirred and rolled the other way, his back now facing you. “Luke get up” you shook him again, he groaned and ignored your pleas to wake up. You were starting to lose your patience, you shook him once more, he would not wake up. Deciding to leave him be, you picked up the bottles and threw them in the trash before making your way to the bathroom.

An empty pill bottle sat on the counter, the label read temazepam in bold letters.

Sleeping pills.

The bottle fell from your hand as fast as you had picked it up. You needed to wake Luke up now. You couldn’t believe he took them and drank, you knew he knew better than that, why did he do that?

“Luke,” you pulled on his arm to try and get him to sit up. “Get up honey, you can’t sleep right now” you tapped his cheek hard enough to wake up but not hurt him. “Luke c’mon, please get up” you tugged on his shirt and sat him up. His back now against the backrest, he’s still asleep.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, what the hell are you going to do ? if you called 911, they would most definitely put him in a rehab program and he would never forgive you for letting that happen.

The light from the window shined through, hitting the sink faucet, the glare catching your eye. You tumbled through the cupboard to find the biggest bowl you could and filled it to the brim with cold water. You rushed back over to Luke, not caring if it spilt all over the floor.

This better work.

You poured the water on Luke’s chest, hoping the coldness would startle him awake. You now realized that wasn’t the smartest plan as it could have ended in his body freaking out over the sudden coldness and causing an entirely different outcome but you couldn’t bother right now. Luke’s eyes were open, his eyes still heavy with sleep. You tapped his cheek a few times to coax him out of his sleepiness.

“Luke, honey, come on” you called out to him while helping him stand up. He started to come to, “y/n what are you doing here?” he mumbled. “You called me Luke, I found you asleep and you drank after you took your pills” you told him, dragging him to the bathroom with you. Letting him down in front of the toilet, you sat beside him, his head leaning back on your chest.

“Come on, you need to throw up” you rubbed his back, he groaned “no” he mumbled, “don’t wanna” his eyes began to shut again. You pinched his arm in an attempt to keep him awake. You knew there was no way to get him to throw up on his own, you leaned him forward towards the toilet and did the only thing you could think of. You stuck 2 fingers in his mouth, reaching as far back as you could until you heard him gag. Luke ended up emptying the contents of his stomach all over your hand, floor and toilet.

Luke leaned against the tub, you washed your hand off. Grabbing the towel from behind the door, you soaked it in cold water before pressing it to his head.

“Why ?” you asked

“Hm?” Luke looked at you

“You mixed your stuff, I know you know better. Why ?” you asked again

“I just wanted it to stop” he leans his head against your chest.

“For what to stop ?”

“The voices”

“Which ones ?”

“The ones taunting me, I couldn't save everyone and they won’t let it go” he rubbed the side of his head.

You didn't say anything and helped him up. Luke wobbly made his way to bed, you helped him change his clothes before getting a glass of water for him to drink. You sat beside him on the bed while he sipped on the water. “You know you can talk to me ? Right ? About anything. I know I won’t always get it but I'm here if you need to get it off your chest”

Luke didn’t say anything to you, his eyes focusing on something other than you. Resting your hand on his chin to pull his focus on you, he pushed your hand away roughly. “What’s wrong with you?” you asked, Luke had an unreadable expression on his face.

“Luke what’s-” Luke’s yelling cut you off.

“You think I didn't try to talk to you? God y/n, I tried so hard, so fucking hard. Every time I find the courage, I lose it because of you.” Luke’s expression had changed completely, you were able to see the sadness all over his face.

“I couldn’t talk to you y/n, I couldn't bring myself to talk to you about this. I didn’t- I never wanted you to see me this way.. and I'm sorry that you had too”

Your heart broke, your best friend sat in front of you with his heart on his sleeve and his feelings out in the open, you reached up and your hand cupped his face. “Luke, I understand okay? I would never focus you to tell me if you weren't comfortable” you told him and he nodded. He got up off the bed and went to his closet, you watched as he reached up and grabbed a box.

Luke returned to the bed and placed the box between the two of you. Glancing at the box and then at Luke, you waited for an explanation. “These are from all the times I wanted to talk to you but I couldn’t” he lifted the lid off the box, there were at least 50 envelopes in the box addressed to you.

“I thought about you every day I was there y/n, I never forgot about you but I couldn't do that to you.” Luke whispered, his eyes focused on you.

“Do what to me ?” you asked, your eyes on the box.

“I didn’t send these because I knew you’d wait for me and I wouldn't let you put your life on hold for me”

You reached for his hand, “I'd always wait for you Luke, always.”

Luke pulled away his hand, “no. no, stop.” Your brows furrowed, “stop ?” you questioned him, “don’t wait for me. Y/n, this is the reason I didn't send them, I don't want you to wait for me.”

“Luke, what the hell are you talking about ? it was my choice” you rebutted, earning you an annoyed look and a groan.

“Just leave” Luke looked away, avoiding your eyes, not wanting to see the heartbreak he’s caused.

“Seriously ?” you scoffed, “you know what? This isn’t even worth it. You clearly can’t make up your mind Luke.” you stormed out, slamming the door on your way out.

And I can't see you here, wonderin' where am I

It sort of feels like I'm runnin' out of time

I haven't found all I was hopin' to find

The window was left open overnight, a cold breeze blew through his bedroom. Luke groaned and rolled over to the other side of the bed, his arm stretched over the left side of the bed, the side of the bed where you’re supposed to be.

His phone screen lit up, the light catching his eye. It was 5:27 in the morning, most of his night had been spent tossing and turning, rethinking the events of last night.

The phone buzzed a few times, Luke picked it up to see messages from you.

To Luke: I don’t know why I'm even texting, I suppose for some sort of self closure but you need to know this and if I call you, you’re just going to interrupt me.

To Luke: I didn’t wait for you.

To Luke: I wanted to, but I didn't. I found someone else, his name was James and he was so sweet and loving and everything I could have ever wanted in a partner.

To Luke: Do you know what the problem was Luke ?

To Luke: He wasn’t you.

To Luke: After James, I promised myself the I would wait for you because you’re the only one for me

To Luke: But it’s clear you don't want the same things as me, so that’s fine. I understand.

To Luke: Goodbye Luke.

Luke’s heart felt as if it dropped to his stomach after reading that.

I was the only one for her ? God, what did I do to her last night.

He did the only thing he could think of, he got up and headed over to your place. See the thing was, Luke had no idea where you lived. He didn't know if you moved or if you were still where you were before he deployed but he thought, at least he would be trying.

When he arrived at the door, he knocked once but there was no answer, so he knocked again, and again, no answer. Luke began banging on the door, “y/n, please. it’s me! Open the door”

An older woman opened the door, she looked as if she had just woken up. “Oh ma'am, I'm so sorry. I must have the wrong door” Luke said to her, she smiled sweetly at him. “That's alright dear, can I help you ?” she asked, he nodded. “Do you know the girl that lived here before you ? y/n?”

“oh yes, she's very sweet. She stops in and checks on me”

“Do you know where she lives now by any chance ?”

“Uh, I don’t want to just give her address out to strangers dear” the older woman smiled at him.

“Oh.. I understand. thank you anyways” Luke turned and headed back down the stairs.

“Wait!” she called out to him, “Maple street, that’s all I can tell you” she said, Luke smiled at her, “Thank you”

Luke ran down the stairs, and ran as fast he could to maple street.

Fuck, why didn't I drive ?

Luke walked down Maple street, his eyes looking over every driveway to find your car. There it was, 46 Maple street and you stood at your front door, your back to Luke.

The rain began to pour out of nowhere, like a full on thunderstorm. You stepped back inside and Luke made his way across the street to your driveway.

When you stepped back outside with your bag, Luke stood on your driveway.

“What are you doing here ?” you asked him, he looked like a crazy person just standing on your driveway in the pouring rain.

“You waited for me ?” he asked, his hand ran over his face to wipe the water off but it made no difference. You made your way down the steps, you stood across from Luke now.

“I did” you answered him, you too, were now soaked from the rain.

“I’m sorry” he told you

“For what ?” you asked, you knew why he apologized but you needed to hear him say it.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you last night. I shouldn't have acted the way I did.” he stepped closer to you.

You watched Luke’s movements, his hands rested on your hips, his face inches away from yours. You’re absolutely sure that anyone who looked outside must think the two of you are out of your minds to be standing in the pouring rain, just having a conversation. You didn't say anything to Luke, you had already said what you needed too.

“Y/n?” Luke looked down at you, you looked up at him, “Luke ?”

“I love you.” his hand cupped your face, making you look at him.

“Luke I..” you sighed, as much as you wanted to tell him you loved him, and you did, you weren't sure if you could, well you weren't sure if you should.

“It's okay, you don't have to sa-”

“Luke I love you”

Luke’s expression changed, there was now a smile on his face. “God I love you so much” Luke picked you up and spun you around, making you laugh as you clung onto him.

“Luke put me down!”

Luke set you back on your two feet, this time, your hand came up to his face and he looked at you.

“I need you to promise me something Luke”

“Anything”

“Promise me you’ll try and quit, I know it’s hard but I promise I'll be by your side”

Luke nodded, “I promise, only if you promise to stick with me”

You stuck your pinky out, Luke chuckled and wrapped his pinky around you.

“always Luke, always.”

----

taglist: @aaronhotchnerr @mac99martin @aaron-hotchner187 @tclaerh @luke-alvez @iconicc @lieberhers @pumpkin-reads @katexrichardson @thelukealvez @sluttytears @scandinavian-punk @haleymalaffey @rosesonmyheart @shotarosleftpinky @mrs-dr-reid

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winchest09 · 4 years

Text

Life for Rent - Chapter Twenty Seven

Pairing: Mobster!Dean Winchester x Escort!Reader

Universe: AU

Summary: Y/N can be anyone for a price. Her life is ruled by contracts, men and money. It’s all she knows; countless identities, seedy clients, and strict regulations. She has to obey the rules, but her past is full of secrets and her future is resting in the wrong hands. But will her next client be the same as the rest?

Rating: 18+ W/C: 5216

Warnings: (spoilers) Angst, violence, threats, death threats, talks of death, imprisonment, suicidal thoughts, violent outbreak, swearing, blackmail, deceit, double crossing, guns, trafficking.

PLEASE HEED THESE. IF ANY OF THEM ARE TRIGGERS, DO NOT READ.

A/N: So...three chapters left after this one...are you ready? ;)

Special thanks to this absolute babe @katehuntington <3 My worldie, my bestie, my beta whose reaction to this always has me beaming, without her, i’d go insane. She’s my cheerleader <3

I hope you guys enjoy this add! Thanks everyone for sticking with me and this fic <3

Love you all.

xox

– I absolutely adore your reactions to this, so please if you do read, reblog, comment or send me an ask and let me know how you feel! It means the world to me.

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<– Chapter Twenty Six

——————————————–

Do it.

Those words echoed around Dean’s head as he stared down at the woman who had managed to fool him entirely. Not again, not her, not Y/N. After everything they had been through, after what he had done for her; what he felt for her. He didn’t understand how she could do this to him. He’d given her everything, he’d allowed her to be a part of his family and yet here she was, on her knees waiting for him to end it all. Never in his life had he come across someone that was so accepting of death. She wasn’t pleading her case or begging to be spared. Neither was she making excuses for what she had done.

His hand shook as he felt the weight of her forehead pressed against the muzzle of his gun. Her eyes closed as she waited for him to pull the trigger. Dean had always been so collected in these situations, taking the shot without hesitation, but staring down at the woman who had invaded his heart, he lost that impulse. Turmoil rolled through his mind as he fought with his instinct, with the way he had been raised. A traitor’s life is ended. No ifs, no buts, no maybes.

Dean didn’t move to swipe at the tears of regret that stained his cheeks, he didn’t blink away the pain that was captured in his green orbs; he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the escort who had threatened his entire family. She had pulled the wool over his eyes, had been the wolf in sheep's clothing this entire time. He’d let her into his home, into his bed; he’d allowed her to fill his head with an endless stream of unachievable dreams through her sweet words. Dean thought she was different, that he could finally break down the wall around his heart and allow himself to be happy. He was a fool.

There was no excusing what she had done, not now his family was in danger, their lives threatened. She was a traitor, and traitors needed to be put down. His lips curled in a slight snarl as his jaw clenched, tears of frustration coming together at the end of his chin. His thumb steadily made its way to the hammer of the gun, pulling it slowly back, hearing the chilling click of the readed shot. The pad of his forefinger twitched over the trigger, the tip pressing harder against the metal ring as he made his decision.

No ifs, no buts, no maybes.

With a loud echo, his shot rang out. The noise ringing through his ears as fresh tears caraded down his cheeks, his weapon hot in his hand. He didn’t make a sound, his eyes now hazy with unshed sadness as a vice gripped at his heart. He really wished it hadn’t come to this, maybe it had just proved to him that he wasn’t allowed to give himself to anyone, that he would be better off on his own. With a short sniff, he moved to tuck the gun into the waistband of his jeans. The sight in front of him was getting too much for him to bear, he needed to get out, he had more important matters to attend too.

The broken Winchester marched out of his room, slamming the door shut behind him before he turned to lock it with his key. Shutting out his darkness, his shame and the woman who had been the cause of it all. He frustratedly slammed his fist against the wood, his angered roar tearing from his throat before he pushed himself to storm down the hall, trying somehow to formulate a plan in his mind to protect the people he cares for most.

Hurriedly pulling his phone from his pocket, Dean’s shaking thumb quickly dialled Sam’s number as he put his cell to his ear. He paced down the hall, one hand combing through his hair as time seemed to slow.

“Pick up, dammit,” Dean growled down the line, his heart pounding in his chest as the dial tone echoed in his ear. Each ring longer than the last. “Pick the fuck up, Sammy.”

“Dean?”

The relief that flooded his being at the sound of his brother’s voice felt like ice on fire.

“Turn around, get home. Now!” he barked, rushing down the stairs towards the foyer, his eyes scanning every doorway in case of a possible ambush.

“What’s happened?”

“Just do it, Sam,” Dean snapped, “It’s a trap.” As soon as the words left his lips he felt the anger surge through his veins.

The older Winchester made his way to the windows next to the front door, gingerly using his fingers to peel back the voils in the windows, peering to see if anyone was coming for him.

“We know.” Those two words that Sam uttered made Dean frown, his gaze breaking away from the outside, “Charlie figured out it was a ruse a few moments ago, we’re setting up a diversion so they don’t follow us home.”

“Good,” a silent sigh of relief left him, his eyes squeezing shut briefly as he was thankful for his brother's safety. Dean strode into the living room, his mind trying to formulate any kind of strategy to keep his family safe from harm. “Watch your backs, go the long way home, keep your hand on your gun at all times.”

“What’s going on?”

Dean bit his bottom lip, his tongue running over his teeth as he resisted the urge to spill everything there and then. “Just get back in one piece,” he instructed, “both of you.”

Immediately ending the call, his next thoughts were on Benny and Cas, the two of the best soldiers he had in this raging war of dominating gangs. With his phone back to his ear, he listened to the agonisingly slow dial tone as he walked around to the pool table, his fingers running slowly along the wooden frame.

“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, another long ring echoing in his ears. “Come fuckin’ on,” he growled, his eyes pinched closed as he tapped his digits against the wood. “Dammit Benny.”

He couldn’t prevent the worry that ate away at his stomach, the way his heart thumped harder in his chest and the panic that tightened his torso. Dean needed to keep a rational head, his friend may have not heard his phone plus there was always Cas. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he dialled another number and waited impatiently for him to answer.

“Answer the phone, answer the phone,” he chanted, his fist curling into a tight ball tighter at the sound of each ring.

I’m sorry, this caller is unavailable. Please leave your message after the tone.

Before he could react, his phone pinged with the sound of an incoming message, one that his thumb was quick to open when he saw it was from Benny. Even though he thought he was prepared for whatever was in the message, he still felt like he had been punched in the gut when he opened the text. There, tied to two chairs, blindfolded and gagged were his men, his best friends. Their faces were beaten and bloody, their shirts stained with crimson.

“NO!” Dean screamed, throwing his phone to the floor in a blast of rage. He was too late, Nick and Alistair had gotten to his family and he didn’t know how long he had until they were dead.

He couldn’t contain his anger as his torment roared from his chest, his hands breaking and destroying everything in their reach. Picture frames; shelves were ripped from the walls, Dean was on a destructive warpath and nothing was safe. He surrounded himself in glass, in broken porcelain and tainted memories, the noises that left his lips were nothing short of animalistic. He didn’t stop to take a breath, he didn’t falter as he tipped over a bookcase and sent many works of fiction scattering across the floor. He spotted the rows of pool cues resting against the wall, and one by one tore them from their fixtures and beat them against the table, splinters of wood flying through the air. He broke every single one of them, leaving his bloody hands holding nothing but the broken remains of his rampage. His eyes burned embers as his face wore a snarl, his nose flared as he looked for the next perfect thing to destroy. Because that was all he was good for.

“What the hell happened here?!” Sam’s voice cut through the red mist that had descended over him, his head snapping over to where his sibling and Charlie were standing, visibly confused.

With his chest heaving, Dean dropped the broken pieces of wood to the floor as he walked over to where the two were standing, pulling his little brother into a crushing hug. He could feel Sam hesitate for a moment before he returned the embrace, the action calming his enraged spirit, relief flooding the fire. Thank god he was safe.

After a few drawn out seconds, he pulled back, clapping the shoulder of the taller Winchester before he headed towards the one thing he didn’t destroy, his alcohol. He needed the burn of whiskey in his throat for the news he was about to tell them, the liquor in his system to numb the sting of the past hour.

Dean’s bedroom was still. The dust had settled on the broken scene; on the shattered glass, the split wood and the broken body that was still rooted to the spot. There was not a sound to be heard, the screams were long gone and so were the uneven sobs from the woman who had torn his world down around him.

It was then that Y/N heaved in a shaky breath, her eyes still clenched tightly shut as she hadn’t dared to open them. She had never expected to still be kneeling in this spot with air in her lungs and a beat to her heart, yet here she was. Her ears ringing with the sound of the gunshot, her body tense with fear as she didn’t know whether she should be grateful that she was still alive, or dreadful because of it. When she had heard Dean pull back the hammer of the gun, she was at peace. She accepted that this was the end of her story, but he chose not to finish it. He chose to aim the gun and shoot it in another direction, leaving her in dismay.

Y/N didn’t understand his actions. She deserved the bullet that Dean was going to shoot into her head. As far as the escort was concerned, she shouldn’t be here right now, she should be long gone and away from this world, away from the torment and this horrendous life. She hadn’t expected him to keep her alive and she would never forget the look he gave her when she fed him the truth. The way his eyes grew cold upon the realisation that she had betrayed him; it solidified her view that there was no coming back from this. Her thoughts were chasing their metaphorical tail as she went around in circles. There was nowhere to run, no way to forget what she had done.

Her body was still shaking as she gained the courage to open her eyes, bracing herself to cast her gaze over the damage she had caused. The room was a mess, his belongings destroyed and it was all because of her. Her lips trembled as a warm tear dropped onto her pale cheek. It was then that she looked upon his bedroom door, the barrier she heard him lock with a faint click as she was dazed on her knees. Y/N knew there was no point in trying to escape, she wouldn’t get very far even if she tried. Dean would most certainly see her leaving his manor and if on the slightest chance she did get away, The Master would find her.

The Master.

She couldn’t leave this house, she didn’t want to subject herself to the hours of torment she was going to face in isolation. The humiliation, the beatings, the assault. Her body was fractured enough as it was, her wings had been snapped and her spirit had been broken long before Dean had found the light in her again. But like a long burning candle, her flame had burned out, she simply had nothing left to give.

With quaking legs she stood, her cheeks still warm from the overflowing shame she felt, as she turned around in the spot she was standing. On the floor she spotted Dean’s clothes from which he had changed out of, the clothes in which he was teaching her how to defend herself from the horrors of the world. If only he had known then, he wouldn’t have wasted his time or energy on her. Taking a sharp breath, the defeated woman took an unbalanced step towards the mobster’s bed, her forehead slightly creasing as her mind plagued her with a question. Where did the bullet go?

She knew it didn’t matter, it was just a piece of metal to anybody else, but to her it meant something, to her that was the thing that was meant to end her life. So, with curious eyes and a determined head, she calculated the shot. Casting her vision over the room as she scanned every possible place it could be. It was then that she saw it, the small, circular entrance that had been created on the side of Dean’s luxury mattress.

Y/N took a deep breath, her feet taking her the small distance needed to clamber onto his bed, eyes fixated on the hole that was meant to be in her. With slim fingers and a bit of patience, she located the small metal casing and pulled it out. Bringing it up to her eye level, she rolled it between her forefinger and thumb. She could just throw it to one side and be done with it yet, instead, she allowed it to fall into her palm as she curled her hand around it, squeezing tightly. It was a stark reminder of what her life had led too.

As the day bled into nightfall, Y/N was going under fast when she was desperate for somebody to hear her. But she came to realise that there was no one left to change the course of action. She didn’t mean for any of this to happen, she didn’t want to break his trust or his heart, she was just so terrified of any consequences. For a month, the escort had been living a life that she had longed for since she was six years old, a life without rules or chains, a life where she was free to breathe. Dean eased her suffering, yet he could only mask her agony for so long.

Flickers of faint moonlight caught her attention, her face slightly angling towards the broken glass on the floor next to the bed. Y/N almost felt as though they were calling to her, one shattered object to another. She gracefully bent down, her fingers tracing the shards that were scattered amongst photo frames. It was then she saw Dean’s warm smile staring up at her, his eyes crinkled and light as he stood next to his family. Her hand hovered above it, the pads of her fingertips gently caressing his face on the picture. He had already given her so much more than she could have dreamed and for that she would be ever thankful. Now, it was about time she took matters into her own hands. If he couldn’t stop the horror that she had been living, then she would.

It was bound to end in blood and tears.

“Sammy, sit down.” Deans instruction was calm, one finger lifting off the glass of his whiskey filled tumbler to point at the couch. “You gonna join him, Charlie?”

“I think I should leave you guys to it,” the redhead mumbled, hooking her laptop bag over her shoulder before turning to move out of the room. “I’ll be in the dining room if you need me.”

“I need you to look into The Hemlock, Alistair and Nick. I need everything that you can find. Surveillance, movements, birthdays, I don’t give a fuck. I want it all.” Dean didn’t bark his orders but the authority in his tone made Charlie instantly nod in submission.

“I’ll get right on it.”

Sam scoffed as he watched their technical right hand walk away, his head shaking causing his brunette locks to frame his face. He was visibly perplexed by his brother’s sudden change in demeanour.

“What the hell is going on, Dean?” he questioned, one large hand gesturing to the rest of the room. “You’ve snapped every single pool cue we own, the room is a complete mess and where the hell is Y/N?!”

His voice rose at the end of his burning question, one that made the older Winchester’s burning eyes snap to his. With a shake of his head, the defeated mobster took down the rest of his liquor in one hit, hissing as it stung his throat.

“Benny and Cas have been captured and Y/N... She’s locked away,” was his simple response as he turned to grab for the whiskey bottle, the remainder of the alcohol calling to him.

“How?!” Sam's brow knitted together. “And what the fuck do you mean ‘locked away’?!”

The news Dean was about to share felt like a hard pill to swallow. He still couldn’t believe it, he didn’t want to, but it was the bitter truth. “She betrayed us, Sammy. betrayed me...that’s how.”

He scoffed harshly as he brought the liquor with him, sitting opposite his little brother on the couch. “Lied to our faces, just like fucking Cassie.”

Sam watched as Dean refilled his glass before placing the bottle on the still intact table, the gears turning in his head as he tried to understand. “You’re not making any sense. Wh--”

“- You were right, okay?!” the mobster snapped, rubbing at his forehead frustratingly with his palm. “I shouldn’t have hired her, I should have never stepped foot in that bastard’s place.” With a deep breath, he took a moment to calm the rage that was flowing through his veins like molten lava. “Nick, Y/N... They have been working together to bring us to our knees.”

“What?” Sam urged, not quite believing what he was hearing. She was part of The Hemlock, how could she be working for the enemy?

“That’s right, she told me, Sam,” Dean disclosed, a disapproving tone laced in his words. “Judging from what she said, I can only assume that the plan for today was meant to be our undoing.”

It was that statement that caught the younger Winchester’s attention, “What did she say?”

“What does it matter? Benny and Cas are in danger, Sam. That’s our priority right now,” the mobster stressed, his voice gruff with emotion.

“We have other men, we’ll send them ahead to scope the place out but we don’t even know what we’re walking into right now. We’ve got to be smart about this.”

Dean knew his sibling was right, yet the feeling of losing his blood brothers because of one stupid mistake was more than he could bare. “I can’t lose more family, Sammy. I just can’t.”

“And we won’t, not if we play this smart,” his little brother advised, sincerity lacing his tone. “Now I need to know what Y/N said. Her exact words.”

“I helped plan it,” Dean fired back, shaking his head as he clicked his tongue against his teeth. “That it wasn’t just her but The Master and Nick.”

“Wait,” Sam held up his hand, “The Master?”

Dean threw his head back against the couch and sighed deeply, his forefinger and thumb pinching across his eyes and nose. He still felt like his head was swimming with information, that he couldn’t focus on one particular thing. When he woke up that morning, he was happy and was ready to take on the world. Now he was back to square one, on the break of losing the family who he loves yet again by his own stupid actions.

“Alistair,” Dean sighed, his focus on the ceiling. “That’s the name his girls call him.”

“That’s seriously messed up.” Sam grimaced, shaking his head as he stared at his brother.

“So he’s into pet names,” Dean shrugged while he lifted his head off the couch with annoyance. “You’re missing the entire point of this.”

Sam just huffed, his tongue poking in his cheek as he looked over at his older brother. It didn’t take him long to look at the bigger picture here. Unlike the man in front of him, he could see the situation clearly as he wasn’t being driven by his raw emotion like Dean was. There was a lot more to this situation, it went a lot deeper than just Y/N double crossing them. Sam had suspicions about her behavior since he had spoken to her after playing pool, and especially after the previous night when a phone call had interrupted them, but his doubtful thoughts were never about her dedication to her job and his family, it was about her past and what she had been experiencing.

“I don’t think I am, Dean,” Sam announced, lacing his fingers together in front of him as he rested his arms against his knees.

“Y/N betrayed us all.” Dean’s face turned into one of exasperation, his mind not fathoming how he couldn’t understand exactly what the escort had done to them.

“How?” Sam questioned, his tone still steady and reasonable. “By saving us?”

“She sent you to your death, Sam!” the mobster snapped, his deep voice bellowing off of the walls as he stood from his seat brashly, his right hand throwing his glass against the wall. His green eyes darkened, his lips twitching as he held back a snarl. “I was the one that pulled you out of there!”

“Because she told you too,” came the younger Winchester’s reply, not even flinching at Dean’s actions, which he had gotten used to by now. He raised his eyebrows as he watched the pacing man in front of him, sucking in a deep breath as he ran a hand through his long hair. “Look, calm down for a minute and let’s talk this out, yeah?”

“Why are you on her side in this?!” Dean fumed, his hands running through his hair as he continued to pace the broken mess of the room.

“Dean, I’m not. Believe me, if I’m wrong in all this, I’ll be handing you a loaded gun,” Sam assured, his dark eyes that were trained on his big brother full of conviction and promise.

It was then that the frustrated man stopped in his tracks, angling his body to look down at the voice of reason. “You wanted me to murder Cassie the first chance I got, hell you still do. So what’s changed?”

“She’s not Cassie,” Sam’s reply was almost instant and it basically winded the head of the family, the darkness in his gaze fading as he collapsed back onto the couch. “Dean, Cassie did what she did maliciously, off her own back. Y/N’s held her hands up and told you before it got too far,” he began to explain, his hand rubbing at his jaw. “Look, when I brought Azazel back here, and I kept Y/N company whilst you did your thing, she opened up to me slightly. I didn’t like what I had to hear.”

At that, Dean frowned, his anger subsiding slightly to make way for the uneasiness in his stomach to break through. “Which was?”

He watched his little brother, how he rubbed his hands together before he spoke. It did nothing to settle the anxious feeling that was resonating in his chest.

“She said that you were the first man that had treated her like a person and not an asset,” Sam began to explain, his voice soft and compassionate as he judged for a reaction. “She tried to cover up her words but I know how to read body language, Dean. She was uncomfortable, she was lying to me. Even when I challenged her about it, she couldn’t tell me the truth, so what does that tell you?”

“That she’s a liar,” the mobster seethed, pulling in his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Or that she’s trapped in a corner with nowhere to run,” Sam implored, causing the older to halt his actions, the words resonating through him.

His anger faded, the red fog clearing slightly, causing him to think carefully over his brother’s comments. Maybe he was right; all the evidence that he had gathered so far had already pointed to a not so normal life. So could it be that she was forced into this situation? That she was truly trapped, or was that an easy excuse to make?

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean sighed, shaking his head slightly as he pursed his lips. “But you don’t know everything.”

“What do you mean?” Sam enquired.

“Charlie found some information. I asked her to look into Y/N and report back to me,” the mobster admitted, rubbing at his chin as he edged closer to the edge of his seat. “Her records were dodgy, Sam. There was nothing past the age of six. It was like her life had ended there. I was convinced she had taken on someone else’s life as an alias.”

“But that’s not true?” His little brother's question made Dean shake his head slightly, his lips pursing.

“No. She told me a bit about her past, she confided in me and the woman I saw was so damn vulnerable. But Hell, that could have been an act too right?” A scoff past his pink lips as he reached for the bottle of whiskey that was on the table in front of him. “I don’t know, Sammy. Something isn’t sitting right. The woman I returned to The Hemlock yesterday morning was not the same one I got back. Something changed in her while she was there and then I noticed a tattoo on her neck.”

“A tattoo?”

Dean nodded, walking over to where he’d thrown his phone earlier. “I don’t just think it’s just any kind of ink, Sam,” he doubted, picking the device off the floor and hoping it still worked. A slight wave of relief washed over him when he noticed that all his cell had suffered was a partially cracked screen.

He pulled up the picture that he took, zooming in slightly on the detail before handing it over to the younger Winchester. “I just need to work out the numbers.”

Sam took a moment to study the photograph, the image fanning the flames of his suspicions with a heavy heart. “That’s because it isn’t normal ink, Dean,” he started, swallowing hard as his gaze went back to the awaiting green orbs. “I think she’s been a victim of trafficking.”

Dean’s face changed, his expression slack as his eyebrows twitched. “What?”

“It makes sense, right? The way she acts, the fake personas, the change of personality, the way her walls fell down around you when you took her to do perfectly normal things.”

Did his brother have a point? The mobster took another long gulp from the glass bottle in his hands, his mind racing as he tried to pinpoint his thoughts. Surely he would have noticed it, he’s a mob boss for fuck’s sake, surely he would have seen something. How could he not know? But then even if he did, would it change how he felt about her now? Y/N had still deceived him, lulled him into a false sense of security before aiding the capture of two of his men. If Sam had been caught too...

“I still can’t trust her. Not now, not after this,” Dean admitted, the morbid thoughts of losing his family taunting him.

“She’s just been a pawn in this war, Dean,” Sam tried to reason, sliding his phone back over the table. “And the fact that you’ve left her alive in your bedroom speaks volumes for itself. You need to talk to her.”

The older Winchester huffed a breath before he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “And what is that going to solve, huh?”

“I know what she means to you, and she means more to you now than Cassie ever did,” Sam spoke truthfully, his eyes full of empathy as he stared at the stubborn man across from him. “You need to speak with her, maybe now she’s in a position to tell you the full truth.”

“But Benny and Cas--”

“- I’ll deal with that. You need to do this, Dean. You need answers.”

There was a brief moment of silence between the pair, neither of them breaking their gaze on the other, a psychological standoff.

“Fine,” Dean relented, closing his eyes briefly as he took a deep breath, pushing himself back off of the coach. His legs felt heavy as he made his way towards the staircase, his palms sweating, his throat dry, even though he tried to drown his thirst with liquor. He hadn’t got the time he needed to process the series of events that turned his world upside down, Benny and Cas were in danger, the woman who had captured his soul laid on his bedroom floor. A possible victim of trafficking. Could she have really been forced into this? Why couldn’t she have just told him the truth? Did she not trust him?

Making his way along the long corridor towards his room, he brought the bottle of whiskey back to his lips, his eyes slightly glassy as he thought about how he had left her. Broken, defeated, at his complete mercy on the floor. She was so accepting of punishment, so willing to welcome any harm that was coming her way. Casting his mind back to the first time he truly spent time with her, he remembered her not knowing how to shop. That memory bled into the one where he told her she could keep the dress he had made for her; the look of childish glee when she tried pizza for the first time, the eyes full of wonder when she tasted chocolate covered strawberries. It was all flashing in front of him like it was a damn show. The need to do well continuously, to be the best of the best. The fear in her eyes when she thought she’d failed him. It all made sense now.

With a partially shaking hand, he pulled the key to his room from his jeans pocket, the metal shaking in the lock as he slowly turned it to open. The click echoed through his soul, causing him to inhale deeply as he readied himself to face Y/N once again. With a forceful push, he opened his door, words spilling from his lips before an unexpected sight greeted him.

“You need to explain yourself.”

——————————————– Chapter Twenty Eight --> ——————————————– A/N: *screams* Guys...three more chapters...that’s it! *sobs into a pillow* We’re so close to the end of this story. I hope you’re enjoying these last few stops.

I love you guys so much for reading this…so thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Tag list is open!

If you fancy jumping on the Life for Rent train with me and enjoying the rest of the ride, let me know HERE :)

Forever Babes:

@squirrel-moose-winchester / @snffbeebee / @cappsikle / @couldabeenamermaid / @spaghettiwoes / @lynne1993 / @maddiepants / @alwaysdreamingforthebest / @31shadesofbrown / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @thefaithfulwriter / @spnbaby-67 / @not-quite-dead / @blackcherrywhiskey / @helpmeluci / @myownsnowflake / @hobby27 / @big-sad-energy / @coffee-obsessed-writer / @zoerayne2426/ @ariasnyder / @phantom-soilder / @amandamdiehl / @geeksareunique / @keymology / @markofdean79 / @flamencodiva / @jesseswartzwelder / @stoneyggirl / @cpag7 / @heavensangel45135 / @dapresidentsshoelaces / @donnaintx / @deanwinchesterficsx / @tranquility-or-chaos / @miraclesoflove / @s-ravenall / @pisces-cutie / @chocolateheart / @deanwanddamons / @jayesdream / @idksupernatural / @talesmaniac89 / @superfanficnatural / @parinarain / @daughterofthenight117 / @emoryhemsworth / @waywardbeanie / @jensengirl83 / @miss-nerd95 / @malfoysqueen14 / @whatareyousearchingfordean / @atc74 / @akshi8278 / @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel

Dean Queens: @x-waywardaf-x / @adoptdontshoppets / @roonyxx / @squirrelnotsam / @ellewritesfix05 / @hardcoresupernatural / @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart / @noneedtoknow789

Life for Rent: @fandom-princess-forevermore / @deans-baby-momma / @tftumblin / @rainflowermoonlibrary / @icedemon1314 / @thewintersoldierswife / / @taetaewonderland / @jadesupernatural / @anaelyreads / @spnfamily-thewinchesters / @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce / @deansgirl-1968 / @1000roughdrafts / @becs-bunker / @scarlettwitcher / @shamelesslydean / @imsuperawkward / @lessons-of-red / @picturesinjuly / @atomicloverdonkeyperson / @moodycastiel / @holylulusworld / @rosey1981 / @waywardsistersandpie / @the-is13 / @sister-winchesters99 / @babypink224221 / @superlockedtimelord / @internationalmusicteacher / @spnarrowfan / @divadinag / @ign-is / @pleasantly-average / @chaldei / @tryin2lovemyselfagain / @deanmonandnegansbitch / @socalgem1124 / @closetspngirl / @gh0stgurl / @kickingitwithkirk / @cookiechipdough / @unicornqu33n17 / @mrsbluesmize226 / @lilred254 / @dxftprettyboys / @sandlee44 / @claitynroberts / @vickyfarley / @sirod-30 / @kaz11283 / @lbyers28 / @theholyfoxface / @keepcalmandbeajunkie / @jbbarnesgirl / @shelbylazarus / @for-the-love-of-the-fandom / @voltage-my2dlove / @monkeymcpoopoo / @buckybarneshairpullingkink / @simplycheyenneautumn / @kat-daddy99 / @kbl1313 / @focusonspn / @one-little-anon / @teddybeardoctorr / @daydream3r-xo / @deans-sweets / @indrarose / @doctor11ms / @i-am-a-mes / @dawnie1988 / @savagemickey03 / @briagallen / @poshpinklace / @faithfullcompanion / @kyjey / @collette04 / @imaginemyboys / @indecisive20something / @mayaslifeinabox / @marvelranger / @kcrews74 / @we-are-band-sexuals / @cheyentjj / @lidibug / @swinchester27 / @lyarr24 / @urmbecky / @bagpussjocken / @phoenixdoll / @winchestersmark / @nathaliabakes / @winchestergirl82 / @missafairy / @sharabp / @supersassyprobablysad / @starchildwild / @dancingalone21 / @kalesrebellion / @padfoot11 / @wish-i-had-something-better / @i-make-questionable-choices / @komekoro / @animegirlgeeky / @elsenthal / @nothing-else5 / @xrosegoldwolfx / @peachyafshawn / @tenaciousnerdbucket / @fatalcrossbow / @vicmc624 / @teresa-67 / @thevanishedillusion / @lady-pswrld / @gabavaldman / @msmarvelouswinchester / @mrsjenniferwinchester / @midnight-dreams-23 / @beachy2014

#au dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #au dean winchester x you #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester series #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester #mafia au #mafia dean winchester #mobster dean winchester #dean winchester au #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #spn fanfic #life for rent #winchest09

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pepperpills · 3 years

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The Harvest - RE8 Fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader

Notes: heey, so here is Part III, hope you all enjoy it! i'm thinking of starting a new story soon, once this is ended, probably focusing more on world building and Karl and reader relationship hehe

Warning: NSFW content

Part I - Destiny (1) Part I - Destiny (2) Part II - The Lord

Part III – The Hunt

Getting to know the factory turned out to be a fantastic experience. You had never seem so many different paraphernalia in your live, the closer you had ever got to that was when you were a child poking around your dad’s storeroom, but there were only some tools, agriculture products and inherited ornaments from your cabin family – these last ones were your absolute favourite.

Heisenberg’s factory, on the other hand, was full of interesting things, some of them you had no idea what were used for. You even found a suspicious “torture” room, but couldn’t dig into it, once he was nearby. Still, you found his journals narrating his experiments, his audio reports and some guide books on mechanics that had you intrigued for a long time while reading them. He was a madman, you were convinced, but at the same time, that secluded part of you was growing a little each day you explored his life.

Lord Heisenberg was nicer and quieter than you would imagine. He basically lived in his various offices across the factory, mostly he would be trying new mechanisms on bodies and seeing how they reacted with the Cadou, the strange parasite the villagers mentioned only on rare and veiled conversations. As far as it wasn’t you, or your family, lying cold on one of the stretchers, you didn’t care. As a matter of fact, you felt tempted to try some things with the gears yourself as you deepen your studies in his books.

At your first days there, you got worried you would have to share the bed with him, which would be much more proximity than you had ever had with another person. The man had already seen your half naked and that was enough. However, he didn’t sleep there with you and you wondered why, once he so enthusiastically mocked you about it when you arrived. Actually, you started doubting he ever slept at all.

You were still a bit scared, though, never knowing if he would play a prank on you, so you were very careful to avoid him for a while - that didn’t endure –, believing you should give him space to get used to your presence after the mood he got into after your reception.

He was disturbed, indeed. His work was getting closer to a crucial point that involved Mother Miranda. He musted be discreet, but it was proving to be a real trial with Soldats activating and running around as lost beasts. Also, having you around actually gave him a new problem.

Lord Heisenberg would walk around the factory looking for material, testing the Soldats and cursing a lot, some of these swearwords you didn’t even know, but started liking how he used them, almost cartoonish. It was never directed to you, of course. He acted like you weren’t there most of the time, in others, when he was more chilled, with less work to do, he asked “how is the mess at the wing, buttercup?” laughing at you blushing at his indiscreet platonic flirts.

You had to find your way around the factory. That place was a labyrinth and a map would come handy, so you drew it on some clean papers you found lying around, loving not to get lost anymore. You hadn’t been face-to-face to one of his creations yet, just saw them on the production lines on the overview of the factory and on some specific rooms. You also avoided it due to fear.

He told you where the wing to be cleaned was and you found it after an hour. It was so incredibly packed with mechanical parts that you could barely come inside to take a look. Huffing, you thought that he could solve that without moving a muscle. It made you mad, but also made you wonder what you were doing there. You cleaned it anyway, as it was your duty and used that waste to build some minor projects.

At the end of your expedient, your hands were orange because of the rusty irons you were moving all day long and you had little cuts here and there, but nothing really bad. As it was going, it wouldn’t take long for you to finish cleaning and could even decorate it for him, making it feel more like home to you too.

You were liking it there. Of course, it was dusty, grey, sometimes rusty and hot all the time, but it was also very different from everything. Once you said goodbye to the cabins, then to the Village and maybe being away from Miranda’s dominance made you feel lighter.

You found some red fabric lying around somewhere, appearing to be forgotten, made some nature sketches on blank papers and put yellow lights on the bedroom and on Karl’s soon-to-be new working room. It looked cosy. You hoped he would appreciate it when he met the reformed wing, until then, you would keep quiet not to bother him.

Though, shortly after you finished decorating the bedroom, an event destroyed your plans of avoiding Heisenberg. On your daily route to what you would now call your wing, you crossed the kitchen and found an overcoat-less Karl trying to prepare a sandwich. He had any chef’s nightmare happening in that place. There were blunt knives flying around, a metal cup chasing the kettle spilling hot coffee all over the floor as he tried to open a bottle of whiskey and, finally, hot coffee hit Heisenberg’s chest and he screamed and cursed like a sore animal.

“FUCK!” He thundered, his word echoing in the corridor where you stood.

You couldn’t ignore that scene even if you tried. You were getting tired of not talking to him, you lived together now and all your few friends were slowly becoming distant memories. You would be happy to hear his voice, something else than gears rumble, even if it was cursing your predecessors.

As a powerful person, he would try to use his powers to do simple things and do a real mess instead. You felt compelled to give him some support, maybe it was a part of your mother’s care for others that lived in you too. You entered the kitchen headstrong, holding a laugh at his misery looks. Now he was stroking his shirt with a cloth and only noticed you when you were getting around the island.

You didn’t know, however, he never “never noticed” you. He felt your presence at the corridor before you saw him and he felt ashamed of you seeing him failing at a stupid task, and so forth his reaction was to be boorish.

“What?” He asked in a rude tone.

“Just let me help.” You offered, placing your hand in the air between you two. It wasn’t really an offer, you were just being polite, you would help him one way or another, you would have your small talk, but he wouldn’t give up so easily. “Please.” You asked, making the sweeter voice you could.

He huffed and threw the wet cloth on the sink. You took another cloth from one of the drawers – you were getting used to the utensils’ places –, wet it a little with water and looked at him, your head slightly tilted to the right.

“What is it, kitten?” Heisenberg questioned, roughly playful then.

“It is your shirt.” You pointed.

“Yes, it is dirty. Weren’t you trying to help?” He started to lose patience.

“Yeah, I am. It is just… You will have to take it off.” You let it out unpretentiously, although in your mind you were revengeful.

“Oh.” He understood and immediately took it off with so much easiness you wondered how many times he did that when you were so uncertain of it at your first day.

You had never seem him shirtless. To be quite sincere, you hadn’t seen many shirtless men in your life. The Village was a very cold town, once it was deep into a forest in the mountains, so even in the summer there wasn’t a hot weather, so people tended to keep their clothes on. Because of this, when he took it off you instantly blushed at his scarred chest.

He has what you would call a dad body. It isn’t really sinewy, although still very strong with thick arms and defined muscles. He has some belly, which means he isn’t a skinny person, but he isn’t fat also. And maybe you took too long looking at him like that and feeling weird feelings you would think about later that night.

“You’re almost drooling there, buttercup.” He teased you and when you quickly, but gently, started cleaning his chest with the cloth, so you wouldn’t have to answer, he gave up a deliciously loud laugh.

You laughed with him, making him laugh even harder. You didn’t want to admit it, but you liked it, this casual connection between you two. The laugh died a gradual death and you started moving you hand on his chest, feeling its warmth below the cloth. You could almost swear his breathing was getting faster and you saw he was biting his lips, maybe because you were taking too long. You didn’t want to finish, but you both know there wasn’t much coffee on him anyway.

You put the cloth with the other one in the sink and as you watered them, you saw him going to get his shirt that had been laying on the island.

“No, no, no.” You said, taking it from his hands kind brusquely, making him confused. “I need to wash these.”

“I see.” He said, raising his hands to show he wouldn’t try again, as a peace offer that made you grin.

“I can finish your sandwich for you, it will only take a minute.” You added, embarrassed to be so bossy with him.

“I will be at my office.” He told you and left without looking back.

You thought he got mad at you because of the shirt situation. It made you sad, you started having a nice approach. To compensate you made him a really good sandwich with the meat and vegetables you found in the refrigerator. Searching for food there you considered asking him to go see the Duke and buy supplies, maybe even hunt, because you didn’t have enough provisions. Anyway, you also prepared the coffee, poured a glass of cowboy whisky – sipped one, two or three times yourself – and cleaned what was there to be cleaned. It took more than one minute, but less than teen.

You were heading to his office when you heard a muffled noise. It sounded guttural and made you shiver. Electricity running through your body, making you feel hopelessly exposed, only that countered by the alcohol it felt good. You stepped carefully as you got closer to the door. You considered not knocking, but the noise made you knock.

“Just…” He gasped. “Leave it at the door, please.” Heisenberg was painting, but he asking “please” was what made up your mind, that politeness wasn’t usual, so you did what he requested.

You wanted to be around him on that day, but chose to respect his privacy. You didn’t imagine that his mind was blowing with you, he desperately wanted to continue the kitchen talk, but couldn’t give himself the chance once he was so close to perfecting the Soldats.

To ease your thoughts, as you were no longer requested at the factory, you tested your stealth skills and slipped to the forest behind it, caring your bow and arrows determinedly.

You were familiar with that area as you have hunted all around the Village, thus, you knew where to go to find good preys. It was by the lake were the deer stopped to drink water. It was far from the factory entrance, but again, you knew exactly what you were doing. When approaching the lake, you climbed a tree and waited.

It didn’t take long until a lonely deer appeared, unsuspicious. It leaned its head so it could reach the water level and started drinking it. You positioned one arrow, held your breath and did the physics magic. The arrow nailed its left eye. It didn’t scream, it was over very quickly.

You climbed the tree down, came closer to the body and tied it with the rope you brough from the factory. Your way back wasn’t effortless, you were slower due to the extra weight and the lycans sensed its blood, their sounds were all around you. They wouldn’t hurt your, though, somehow, they knew you were with Heisenberg.

It was past four in the afternoon when you reached the factory, panting with the effort of bringing the deer. Heisenberg was poking around for something in his front yard. He noticed you just as you appeared in his peripherical vision. He walked towards you, with an intrigued expression that transformed into an impressed one when he saw the deer.

“Some gifts you have there, kitten, ain’t gonna lie.” He commented, squatting to take a good look at the animal. “How did you do that?” It was clear he didn’t mean to offend, quite the opposite, he was genuinely curious.

“A girl has her secrets.” You answered, when you finally stop panting, shrugging when internally you are fulfilled someone knew about you hunting and didn’t seem mad at you.

He wasn’t even angry you left the factory without his permission, which made you happier. He stood below you with the animal for a few seconds more, than got up on his feed, laid his hands on your shoulders, well, on your skin hunting jacket, and said “You are really something, kitten.”

You fell for his words. You never wanted to feel that dependant on someone’s appreciation for you, but with him it was lighter. Karl took the weight of the world off your shoulders by bringing you there and kind off supporting you even though you had only spent little more than a month together.

“Thank you, my lord.” You spoke.

“Stop it. Call me Karl.” He said roughly, but good hearted. “Now, do you know how to clean this deer?” Heisenberg asked.

Usually, Duke would do it for you, although you knew the theory, you hadn’t much practice.

“I was hoping you could help me with it, Karl.” You suggested, toasting him a malicious smile.

“For fuck’s sake.” But he cursed laughing.

He cleaned this table at the garage and disposed the deer there. You helped him doing the messy job, learning with him what you only saw the Duke doing. It wasn’t pretty, but you were comforted by his presence and obstinacy. He probably did it often as it showed, but didn’t bother to take it slower so he could teach you.

Heisenberg enjoyed that night more than you could imagine. He didn’t care for the Soldats, they could wait, it was nice being around you for a change, not running away from your hair, your smile, your presence. For the first time in his life, he actually had someone who wanted to be around him.

Later your prepared venison, demi-glace, potatoes, a fresh arugula salad and both of your enjoyed dinner at the kitchen island with bottles of dark beer. He was funny, he was tripping over words a little, due to the alcohol, but his stories, oh man… He was a real brat. You told him about the cabins and the hunting. He listened carefully, never judging you and laughed at your silly manners, at your etiquette and, over all, loved your cook.

He slept in the bed with you, tired, amused and drunk, he sunk in his dreams. You stayed up a bit longer, resisting your lazy eyes temptations just to appreciate his scent, it would smell like burned wood.

#resident evil #re8 #karl heisenberg #re village #karl heisenberg x reader #resident evil 8 village #heisenberg #heisendaddy #heisenberg resident evil #resident evil viii #resident evil 8 fanfic #original post #resident evil village #re8 karl heisenberg #resident evil heisenberg #fanfic #re fanfic #the harvest

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theasstour · 5 years

Photo

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓼 𝓫𝔂 𝓢𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓻𝓸 𝓑𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓲

𝓯𝓲𝓬 𝓹𝓪𝓰𝓮 | 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 21k 𝓝𝓑: 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮, 𝓼𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽

A/N: my baby @shepherald... grazie mille my dear one! i’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for bb, and i’ll never be able to put into words how much you mean to me! i love you so much! thank you!

A/N2: so, this is it! last chapter of bb! it honestly doesn’t seem real, and i’m so sad i have to let painter!harry go cos i’ve grown quite fond of him the year i’ve spent thinking about him and this fic! what bb represents is what makes this fic so special to me. i - a plus size woman - never felt like i belonged anywhere. i assumed i was unloveable from never seeing a bigger person like myself in a book or a film where that person was deemed attractive. they were always the clown, or ‘the fat character’, or their entire storyline was based around them needing to lose weight. i’ve gotten pretty fucking tired of never seeing myself represented properly in fiction or irl or ANYWHERE for that matter, so i decided to take matters into my own hands, and i cannot begin to tell you how LIBERATING and AMAZING it felt! to each person who reached out to me saying bb made them confident, made them feel like they weren’t alone, opened their eyes to what life as a bigger person is: i love you all. this is the exact reason why i wrote bb. fat doesn’t equal ugly, it doesn’t equal unloveable, it doesn’t equal any negatively charged words. fat equals beautiful, it equals human. and anyone who ever tries to tell you otherwise can choke lmao. enjoy this last instalment of bb, i love you all so much x

Sunday, 1 March 2020

Y/N had always thought that the biggest changes were those you didn’t pay immediate notice to. Like the changing of the seasons, aging on your birthday, when the clock struck 12 and a new day began. Changes that were caused by time; that could not be prevented. Loads of changes couldn’t be prevented, but it was impossible to escape time. Manmade to make life simpler to live, and yet it’s what kills us in the end. However, Y/N had come to learn that some changes – the biggest and worst of them all – pained you so much, they didn’t fully leave your body. Like a volcanic eruption, they’d come every now and again, but would leave you scorched and burning for days. She chose not to think about those changes.

But it was hard when she was out shopping with her younger sister and said younger sister would not stop bloody chattering. The first day of spring had brought nothing but clouds and the occasional fall of some rain. Y/N wasn’t impressed. Wasn’t a new season supposed to bring something else? So far it just felt like any other winter day in south England.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Looking up at Portia, it was painfully obvious Y/N hadn’t been paying attention to anything her sister had been saying.

Portia raised her eyebrows. “Are you taking the mick right now?”

“What?!”

“You’re not even listening to what I’ve been saying.” Portia scanned her Oyster card and walked on into Haggerston station, leaving Y/N sighing behind her. Y/N scanned her own card and followed, knowing that her sister would not stop being annoying unless she asked what she’d been talking about. The second she began talking again, she’d forget Y/N wasn’t listening to begin with.

The two were on their way to Victoria Station, Portia was going back home after having stayed with Y/N in her shared flat in Hackney for two weeks, having had some modelling jobs to attend to. And now that she was done, she would be going home to their mother and staying there for a week until she had to come back down to London for some more jobs. Y/N was getting rather sick of her little sister staying with her when she could easily find her own flat, but she figured she’d bring that conversation up another time. A time when she hadn’t pissed her sister off already that day.

“Tia,” Y/N said as they reached the Southbound platform, the windy remnants of the storm that had just been making it freezing to be taking the Overground and wait outside for the next tube to arrive. “What were you saying?”

“Do you even care?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“This bloke I’ve been going on dates with while I’ve been here, right,” Portia started crossing her arms over her chest as the tube started approaching, knowing that a gust of wind would accompany it. “He’s got this friend that’s been eyeing me up the two times I’ve met him. He’s fit and everything, but I’m seeing Azeem, you know.”

“Tell Azeem his mate makes you feel uncomfortable and he’ll do something about it till next time you meet.”

“But he doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable, that’s the thing.” Portia sighed as the two girls walked up to the yellow line, waiting for the train to stop so they could get on. “I just think it’s annoying.”

“That men find you attractive?”

“That the fit one’s are always the ones I can’t have.”

“Oh, my days, Portia.” Y/N mumbled, getting on the Overground and sitting down in one of the orange and brown seats. Portia sat down next to her, putting her bag on the ground beside her feet.

“What, Y/N?”

“You just sound like a bellend.”

“How?”

Y/N gave her a look.

“How?!”

“’The fit one’s are always the ones I can’t have’? At least you’re dating someone, and they’re interested in you.”

“And Azeem is delicious, but his mate’s got…”

“Got what?”

Portia sighed. “Got nice arms.”

Y/N leaned her head against the wall behind her, it swayed with the moving coach.

“I know it’s not all about looks.”

“It really is not.”

“But I still can’t help myself.”

“You’re such a prick.”

“Don’t be rude.” Portia nudged her sister’s shoulder. “If you’d just go out and date people as well, you’d have the same problems.”

Y/N huffed, looking at Portia. “Doubt it.”

Portia rested one leg on top of the other, examining her nails. “You’re so boring sometimes.”

“Cheers.”

“No,” Portia glanced at Y/N again. “But isn’t it boring to just be sat inside all day?”

“Oh, it’s incredibly boring to get an education.”

Portia rolled her eyes.

“Go out of my mind going to lectures, writing my dissertation, doing other assessments, and applying to thousands of jobs a day.”

Portia crossed her arms, looking ahead.

“So boring.”

“I know you pride yourself on the fact you’re gonna be a vet.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

Portia sighed, refusing to answer. The two kept quiet after that. Y/N knew in order to make Portia shut up, she just had to bring up her education. Portia was fully aware that Y/N was the smartest one out of the two of them – quite frankly, the smartest one in their entire family – and if Y/N rubbed it in, Portia would keep quiet. Reminding her sister how she’d gotten into the University of her dreams and was doing great, was a low blow, Y/N knew that. But at the same time, Portia just pissed her off so much sometimes that she simply could not help herself.

The two got up as they reached their stop at Canada Water, and walked off towards the Jubilee line once the tube doors opened. Portia’s bag kept bumping into Y/N as they walked, and though she would normally tell her to piss off, to keep her bag closer, she didn’t know. Giving Portia a reason to start shouting at her in the middle of a tube station was not ideal. She was mad enough as it was.

They got on the escalator, Y/N was just about to tell Portia what direction to walk in once they reached the bottom since her little sister always forgot, but Portia gasped before Y/N got the chance. Looking up at her sister, Portia’s eyes were wide, a small smile lingering on her lips. She pointed to the digital posters that lined the wall along the escalator, making Y/N look to her right to see what had gotten her sister all excited.

It was the colour that stood out first. She remembered the exact shade of it. The painting stood out second, then the colour of the person’s hair, the shape of their body, the shoes. The landscape, the warm colours. It was her. It was the same day she’d found Viola. The same day Harry had supposedly… No, she couldn’t even finish that thought. She’d tried not to think of him for months now. As they passed another one of the posters, she looked at it again. In white and bold letters, the text on the poster said ‘H. Styles’ exclusive and limited new exhibition. 11:00-18:00. 23rd February – 1st March. Dover Street, Mayfair. £10 admission.’

“Y/N, what the fuck?” Portia said, tapping her finger against the screen multiple times as they passed yet another one of the posters. “What the fuck?”

The exact same statement was going on repeat in Y/N’s head as well. Seeing the painting, seeing herself on that poster, it brought back so incredibly many memories from a time she had tried to forget.

Ever since they had parted ways, Y/N and Harry had only talked on a handful of occasions. They would text one another – very early on, Harry even called her twice (only after making sure the time zones weren’t fucked and she wasn’t asleep) -, and they did so for a long while, but then Harry’s answers got shorter and shorter, and Y/N felt like he might be falling out of love. She didn’t want to ask him in case she was reading too much into things, afraid of what the answer might be. She was still in love with him, would probably be so till the day she died, but she didn’t want to force him to talk to her if he wasn’t feeling it anymore.

As time went on, their text conversations got less frequent, and by Christmas, they weren’t talking at all. Y/N had tried to forget about him, thinking that he might have just viewed what they had as an intense summer romance and that was it. After all, he was a passionate and artistic man, maybe he fell in love with the thought, image, and what she represented to his summer more than her person. It all hurt to think about, which was why she rarely allowed herself to think about him at all. She hadn’t seen him in almost seven months, she was terrified of what that distance had done to them. To his heart. Because hers still longed for his in every way a person could yearn for another. It proved hard living apart from a person whose name you had etched onto the organ that kept you alive.

They reached the bottom of the escalator and the two girls stepped off, Y/N blinking a few extra times because she simply could not hold tears back when she was thinking about Harry. Portia walked beside Y/N, mouth agape.

“Y/N,” she said. “We have to go.”

Y/N sniffled, pretending it was because she’d caught a cold. “Why?”

Portia glanced at her as if she was insane.

“What?”

“Don’t even start, Y/N. We’re going. I need to see those paintings and so do you.” Portia walked onto the Jubilee tube, Y/N following straight after. They held onto a pole, and when Y/N averted her eyes to the advertisement on the walls of the coach, she saw Harry’s poster again. They were everywhere, how hadn’t she noticed them before?

“Dover Street.” Portia said. “Right by Piccadilly, innit?”

“Yeah.”

“Brill, we just jump off at Green Park and walk for like five minutes and we’ll be there.”

Y/N sighed, suddenly feeling like she needed to throw up.

Portia grinned, looking at Y/N. “I’m excited now.”

“Portia, this is a bad idea.”

“It’s a splendid idea.” Portia corrected. “I need to see all the paintings. I’m sure they’re amazing.”

Y/N had never told Portia she hadn’t seen the paintings herself, that Harry hadn’t let her. But then again, there were a lot of things she hadn’t told Portia about last summer and H. Styles. Her heart was beating way faster than normal, she was suddenly sweating. The notion that Harry might be there was overwhelming, that he had probably been in London for a while now but not contacted her made her entire body ache in a way it had never done before. Though Harry being at his own gallery didn’t make sense on any other days than the opening one, Y/N was still sick thinking about meeting him. He wouldn’t be there, but she still was wary of going.

“What’s gotten into you, you look faint.” Portia pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

“I think it’s a really bad idea to go to that exhibition.”

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Portia groaned. “These are paintings of you. You’re literally the star of the whole thing.”

Y/N shrugged.

“Besides, I don’t think we have to pay a tenner since you literally spent all summer with him so he could paint you. Free admission equals ‘why the fuck not’.”

Would Harry even want her there? They hadn’t talked after all; he hadn’t told her he was in London. Maybe he didn’t want her to come see the paintings. Maybe he just wanted her to stay away.

She hated how much she was overthinking this. The last thing she wanted to do was step on Harry’s toes, especially now that they hadn’t spoken in a while. Especially because she loved him and was afraid he didn’t anymore. However, realising the reason she was overthinking in the first place, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was because Harry meant so much to her. Never could she face him now without knowing if he felt the same way about her.

Portia dragged Y/N off at Green Park, walking towards the exit with an excited gleam in her eyes. Y/N’s stomach hurt so much she didn’t know what to do. She wanted to lay down in a foetal position and die. This was all so sudden, so overwhelming. They exited the underground, and as they reached the outside again, the sun was shining and the wind didn’t seem as horrible. It didn’t ease Y/N’s nerves one bit, though.

It took them a total of three minutes to reach Dover Street, and the exhibition was one of the first things that caught Y/N’s eyes. The entire front was made of glass, covered in a baby blue sheet that read ‘H. Styles’ new exclusive exhibition.’ Portia gripped Y/N’s arm, squealing before she looked both ways and crossed the street. Y/N knew Dover Street was known for having numerous contemporary art galleries, but looking down the street, none stood out as much as Harry’s. It was impossible to view any of the paintings through the windows, undoubtedly leaving people wanting to pay the 10 quid to do just that. Y/N was torn between actually wanting to walk inside or sprint back to Hackney.

“Why’re you hesitating? Come on!” Portia took Y/N’s hand and opened the door with the other, forcing Y/N in first.

The reception was dark, absolutely everything covered in black from the floor to the ceiling. There was nothing on the walls, nothing that stood out. But in the middle of the room stood another black wall, covering the proper entrance to the actual exhibition. In front of it stood a reception desk in the same colour, and behind it sat an old man, but he was accompanied by a figure Y/N recognised right away. Portia walked straight up to the desk, a huge smile on her face.

“Good afternoon, miss,” the old man said, smiling right back at her.

“Hi, my sister and I would love to just enter the exhibition, please.”

“20 pounds, then.” Jamie said, standing bent over a pile of papers that they were signing and reading over.

“No, you don’t understand,” Portia started, turning around and beckoning Y/N over. “My sister is a good friend of H. Styles.”

Jamie looked up, their eyes immediately landing on Y/N. And just like that, she was brought right back to last summer and everything Jamie had told Harry on one of her last nights there. So many memories washed over her that it made her a little dizzy. The car rides where she and Jamie would sit in the backseat and discuss animals, life, or anything else that would’ve caught their attention. The other times when they’d wait for Harry to get ready downstairs. She didn’t know how to act. Did she give them a hug? Did she smile? Did she say something? This was exactly why she didn’t want to go.

“Y/N,” Jamie said, standing up straight.

“So you recognise her!” Portia was elated. “Can we just walk on in then?”

Jamie and Y/N didn’t break eye contact, both at a loss for words. It was clear that something went down between them, that there was something unspoken in the air of the reception hall. Y/N looked away, not wanting to have Portia ask her about Jamie once they entered the gallery. She didn’t want to tell her; didn’t want to recount anything from her time in Italy.

“Yeah,” Jamie hastily reached for two brochures, locking eyes with Y/N again as he handed them to her. Portia raised her eyebrows, catching on that something was going on. She looked at Y/N. “Don’t take any photographs, if any of our guards see you do so, you will be asked to leave and pay a fine. Other than that, I hope you enjoy.” Y/N knew they were talking to both her and Portia, but by the look in their eyes, she felt as though they were talking to her alone.

“Thank you very much.” Portia smiled, taking one of the brochures and walking away from them.

Y/N looked at the brochure, just as baby blue as the sheet that had covered the front of the gallery, the same writing on it as well. Her eyes met Jamie’s again, and there was something about the way they glanced at her that was so sad. Somewhere in the wrinkle between their eyebrows Y/N saw an apology of sorts. Regret so deep and intense that she could feel it herself. They didn’t say anything, but Y/N felt the agony; saw something in their eyes that she hadn’t experienced herself, but that they needed her to see. She gave them a small smile before following Portia and walking around the wall behind the reception desk, keeping her eyes on the brochure in her hands.

If meeting Jamie had her shaken up this bad, she didn’t even want to begin to think what an encounter with Harry would bring. The leaflet was shaking in her hand, begging for her to open it. What would it even hold? Copies of the paintings? No, if they weren’t allowed to take pictures inside, why would he have them attached in leaflets for anyone to see?

“Oh, my word.” Portia said, making Y/N look up.

The entrance to the gallery had her halting. Just like everything else, she recognised it right away. All over the wall was a painting she’d seen on her first week last summer; seen on one of her last days when she’d shown it to Harry.

“When I first moved into the flat, I found a painting in this wardrobe.” She pulled it down, taking a glance at the autumn painting depicting a gravel path leading nowhere into darkness. Turning around, she walked back over to the bed, handing the painting to Harry. “That’s only one of like, two of your paintings I’ve really seen, other was one of the sea back in your house. Mind if I ask what inspired this one?”

A projector planted it on the dark surface, welcoming the guests to the gallery. A gravel path leading off far into the dark distance, tall oak trees surrounding it, filled with the rich colours of autumn. Though it was filled with yellow and green, two colours that would normally have positive connotations, Y/N couldn’t help but get quite the opposite vibes staring at it, just like all the other times she’d seen it. There was something about it she couldn’t put her finger on. Like there laid a secret at the end of the path; an explanation in the black of the unknown.

“It’s the drive to my house back in Manchester. The drive up to my childhood home, or… this is facing the other way.” He explained, dragging his finger gently along the gravel path. “It’s what you see when you’re leaving.” He shifted the attention of his finger to the trees of different colours. “Autumn, the dull colours…” he trailed off, as if reliving a memory he’d almost suppressed; something he’d pushed so far into the back of his head it had almost vaporised and disappeared into nothingness. “This was when I left home, when I first moved to London.” He pointed at the darkness at the end of the gravel path. “That’s the end of the road, I couldn’t make it out clearly. My future, I mean. It’s all supposed to represent uncertainty.”

Portia looked over her shoulder at Y/N, squealing. The darkness at the end of the painting was a hallway, a dark corridor that seemed to be leading off into nowhere. Her sister stood there waiting for her, reaching her hand out so they could walk through the darkness together. But Y/N needed to take a moment and just look at the wall, because it was one of the very first of his paintings she’d ever seen, and now she was about to see all of the other paintings he had refused to let her see. Taking a deep breath, she walked forward, took Portia’s hand, and the two walked into the dark hallway. Y/N felt her grip on Portia’s hand tighten for each step they took

“Why didn’t they just put some bloody lights in here?-“

But just as Portia said that, the exhibition was revealed to them. It was black. Dim white lights lit up the room on the walls and ceiling, illuminating the floating balls that were lined up down the room. Looking at the walls first, Y/N realised the light appeared as stars. Dotted along the walls and ceiling, lighting up the room and revealing the huge round objects that appeared to be floating, but was held from the ceiling and the floor by metal poles. The first one was completely dark, and as the two sisters walked on closer, Portia gasped a little.

“Y/N,”

“What?”

“How many planets are there in our Solar System?”

Y/N frowned, but as her eyes met Portia’s she understood immediately. Taking a step to the side, she looked down the room, seeing that there were quite a few others visiting the gallery as well. Harry was an immense painter, after all. Everyone knew who he was. However, Y/N couldn’t focus on the other people in the room with her, she started counting the different sized round objects that were nicely lined.

“Eight.” Y/N answered.

“And how many-“

“-Eight.”

Portia squeezed Y/N’s hand, eyes wide with some kind of realisation. The sisters looked at one another for a minute before Portia opened her mouth to speak again.

“Why the fuck has he done that, Y/N?”

Y/N shook her head. “Dunno.-“

“-You do.” Portia said. “That’s why that person back there looked at you all intense as well, wasn’t it? What happened last summer? You never spoke of it.”

Y/N sighed, closing her eyes. “Portia, it’s… it’s incredibly complicated and… and it’s a long story.”

Portia groaned, clinging to Y/N’s arm. “I don’t care, Y/N. I want to know. For fuck’s sake, look around you,”

Y/N opened her eyes, doing as her sister told her to.

“It’s so painfully obvious, Y/N.”

Y/N refused to believe it was. She didn’t want to believe that what Portia was insinuating was true, because it would mean the last few months had been for nothing. It would mean the countless hours she’d cried, the times she stopped herself from thinking about him, from yearning for him, from going back to a time spent with him and cursing herself for doing so; it was not worth it. Trying to forget him had meant nothing.

Portia tapped Y/N’s arm, catching her attention. She gestured at the painting they stood in front of, giving Y/N a little smile. Y/N looked at it, and she was immediately taken back to the exact moment of it.

There was a hole in the planet in the shape of the canvas, white light washing over it to reveal it completely to the gallery visitors. Portia opened the catalogue as Y/N studied the painting Harry had never let her view. His first painting of her.

“Miss Sweeney,” Harry said, pointing at the hill. “You-“

“-You can just call me Y/N.”

“You need to stand far away.”

Shocking. But there was no use making that comment. She took her cardigan off, putting it along with her purse in the backseat of the car.

“You will find a tree further down if you just walk straight ahead, it’s got a blue ribbon on it. Stop there with your back facing me. And don’t move until I tell you so.”

As she started walking down the hill, she could feel Harry watching her, studying her every move and every surface of her body. She supposed he wanted to make sure she found the ribbon, as well as to see what he was working with.

An abundance of colours surrounded her; green, grey, yellow, brown. She could barely make out the baby blue dress amongst the nature swallowing her, there was no way of knowing the colour of her hair, the proper colour of her skin, or any of her characteristics. The only thing that stood out was the colour of her dress, but even that wasn’t as prominent as she remembered the colour to be.

“Won’t that smear the paint everywhere?”

Harry looked at her, those two familiar lines appearing between his brows. “How?”

“Shouldn’t it be left to dry or something?”

“It’s dry.”

She frowned back at him. “Already?”

“I finished a while ago, left it to dry for around an hour.”

The memory made her smile some, regardless of how infuriated she remembered being. It was the fact that they had started out like that; polar opposites with absolutely nothing in common. Two people who couldn’t see eye to eye on anything. That fact was easy to note in the first painting, seeing the insignificant role she played in the actual painting. The Tuscan landscape could’ve done fine without her presence in it, she wasn’t even placed in the middle of the painting where nature parted to reveal Fosdinovo, but somewhere to the right of it, in the middle of the trees.

Portia tugged at Y/N’s sleeve, motioning for her to follow her to the next painting behind the first one. It was the same as the first one; a rectangle shaped hole in the dark planet, lights surrounding it to show it off. She smiled again.

“It’s beautiful here.”

“Do you see that rock over there?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“Sit there facing me.”

She knew there was no use saying anything back, so she simply walked over to the rock and sat down like he wanted her to. It wasn’t comfortable to sit on, and she didn’t think she’d be able to sit there for two hours straight. Then again if she decided she needed a break, the painter would undoubtedly show his annoyance in some way. He instructed her to straighten her legs, crossing them at the ankle, leaning back on her hands. He said he wanted her to “be looking directly into the sun.”

“That could literally ruin my eyes.”

“Art goes beyond comfort.”

“I want to be able to see said art.”

Y/N felt like she was transported right back to the moment of the painting, like she could feel, see, smell everything. Though she had known that would probably be the effect once she saw the collection, she hadn’t been aware it would be this intense. The notion Harry had painted these of her; that he had painted them before, during, and after everything happened between them, it struck her. He’d been working on these for so long; she had been a forced part of his life for so long. Maybe that was why they’d stopped talking. He’d gotten tired of her. Gotten enough of her.

The colour of her dress was the same as the previous painting; it stood out, but not in a contrasting way like you thought the colour of baby blue would when surrounded by woods. The white sunlight lit up most of her surroundings, making them blend well with the dress, but then again, she could recall quite clearly how bright the sun had been that day. Though she had hated the heat of the Italian weather in the beginning, towards the end she’d gotten kind of used to it. It was almost cold coming back home to a normal British summer.

Y/N groaned, positioning her head like he wanted her to. “Went to this baker Wednesday.” It just slipped out. She had genuinely not meant to say it, but now that she’d already mentioned it, she might as well go all the way.

Harry didn’t respond.

“Said you were known around town as the grumpy Brit.”

She didn’t see him stop painting, but she could tell he halted a little. “Who said that?”

Trying not to smile as she had somehow managed to capture his attention. “Does it matter?” Y/N didn’t know why people wanted to know what someone else thought of them. It was out of their control. Then again, she supposed, she’d brought it up so it was partly her fault he asked in the first place.

Harry huffed.

“What?”

“Hm?”

“What was the –“ Y/N imitated his exasperated huff.

“Whoever said that,” Harry said, bending down a bit and disappearing completely behind the canvas. “They’re a fucking knobhead.”

Y/N nodded her head, pursing her lips before she clicked her tongue loudly. Harry glanced up. “Great argument.”

It was weird how there had been a time prior to how she was feeling now. That at the time of this painting, she hadn’t been in love with Harry. The hands that had created this artwork hadn’t yet touched her; hadn’t yet loved her. She wanted to reach through the glass that separated the canvas from them; wanted to feel the paint and the memories that came with it.

But Portia was impatient, having already started walking around the planet to the next one. She looked down into the brochure, a furrow to her brows and concentration on her face as she read something on it before taking in the third painting. This was the one Y/N almost remembered best. This was the one that changed her and Harry’s relationship in a way neither of them was made aware of till after. You don’t realise the pivotal moments in your life till after they’ve happened, but as they’re happening, you don’t understand their incredible impact. Harry nor Y/N knew how big of a role Viola would play in their lives. What her presence would do to them.

“Is that a smile I see?” she teased. “You got a rise out of me, and now you’re pleased with yourself?”

He bit his bottom lip, shaking his head without looking away from the painting before him.

“Right then.” Y/N said, eager to get the conversation going again. “What’re you best at? There’s a lot of stuff you can do with gymnastics, innit?”

Harry wasted no time. “Swing bar.”

Y/N’s eyebrows immediately shot upward. Trying to be subtle, she let her eyes fall to his muscular arms, his broad shoulders and the curve of his slight biceps. The tan he’d gotten did wonders to the outline of his muscles. Stop, stop, stop-

“Explains the arms.”

Oh. My. God. Immediately she felt her cheeks heat up. And her blushing got worse when Harry looked up at her. He huffed.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been checking me out.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have not.”

She walked closer, feeling her bottom lip start to wobble as she saw the painting. Harry had depicted the cliff, the ocean, the forest, the atmosphere of that clifftop perfectly. It was exactly as she remembered it. Just looking at it brought her back to finding Viola, to watching Harry pet her to calm her down, the closeness in the back of Gioele’s car. How willing Harry was to help. How good he’d smelled. How hot his skin had been against hers. That was the first time she’d ever seen him smile; first time she’d seen him happy. It was the first time she saw him show compassion; saw him worry. She hadn’t known then, but she knew for certain now, that if Viola hadn’t stepped out of the woods at that second on that day while Harry and Y/N hadn’t been talking, then none of this would’ve happened.

“What?” His voice was a whisper, the small word leaving his lips like a simple puff of air that hit her jaw, sending a storm of goosebumps up and down her back.

“Your…” she started, swallowing thickly before looking down at the cat in her arms. “Your moped.”

“I’ll get it later.”

She hated that he sounded like he wasn’t faced by the close proximity at all.

“What if someone steals your painting?”

Looking up at him, she realised once again how close they were. They might have been close earlier when he helped calm the cat down outside, but this… this was close. She felt his hot breath against her lips, in her nose; felt his eyes on her like there was nowhere else to look in the car; felt everything too much. He was… so handsome. So incredibly good looking. There was undoubtedly sweat along her hairline and cupid bow, but she literally could not reach up to remove it right now. She was unable to move, not only because of the cat, but because of Harry.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/N,” Portia said, pointing at the painting. “What’s that?”

Y/N walked over, looking at what Portia had asked her about. Though she didn’t see it at first, having mistaken it for a dark rock or something alike, Y/N gasped a little when she realised what it was. Small pointy ears, fur a dark brown with some striped black and desert brown and a tail swaying upward. The cat was so tiny, hidden amongst the tall grass by the forest, looking at Y/N with big pleading eyes. Y/N had almost forgotten what Viola looked like, but seeing her on the canvas, it was like being back in Fosdinovo, walking the cobblestoned streets with the little kitten following her every step.

“Viola.” Y/N answered, blinking a few times as her eyesight started to blur.

“What?”

“A cat.”

“A live one?”

“I, uhh,” Y/N nodded. “The day of that painting we found an injured cat in the woods and brought her to the nearest vet so I could help nurse her. She’d broken her foot.”

Portia looked at Y/N, raising her eyebrows. “And you called her Viola?”

“Yeah,” Y/N didn’t take her eyes off the cat. “She stayed with me the rest of the summer.”

Portia turned to face her sister. “Where is she now?”

“Dunno.” Y/N sighed. “I… dunno.”

Y/N looked at Portia, giving her a little smile before walking towards the next painting. Looking at Viola and knowing that she’d left the cat in Harry’s house in Fosdinovo, also knowing Harry had most likely moved out of the Italian mountain village, it hurt. She had no idea what happened to the cat after she left. Absolutely no idea of how she was doing or who was taking care of her now. There were many times when Y/N had cursed herself for not bringing Viola back home with her. After all, they had created a little bond between them that Y/N now realised would stay with her forever.

Walking up to the fourth painting, Y/N felt herself halt some, watching as Portia walked right up to it to study it properly. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was because Harry had taught her about how he painted during the summer, if she was getting an eye for these things, or if she was just that observant, but she could swear there was something about this one that set it apart from the other few she’d seen up till now.

It dawned on her that for each painting, her figure had gotten closer and closer to Harry. As if the focus shifted from the nature around her to her alone. From far away in the first one, to taking up the whole lower half of the canvas in this fourth one. Her figure was the first thing you saw. The baby blue dress that only barely covered her bum, her bare legs, her white knee socks, her white docs.

“Don’t bend your knee that much.”

Y/N readjusted her knee.

“No.”

“Then how?!”

The grass shifted behind her, and looking to her right, she noticed Harry walking over. For some reason, Harry getting closer got her heart beating so hard she heard it in her ears and her muscles tensing. He sat down before her, a concentrated furrow to his brows that wasn’t at all intimidating. He just looked focused, deep inside his own head, constructing and planning his new painting.

For some reason, she hadn’t thought of the reason for Harry coming over, only that he was. So when he reached for her leg, she almost jumped.

She blinked as she remembered the first time Harry touched her willingly like that. How he had barked orders at her in the beginning, to coming over and moving her leg like he’d done. It made her thigh seem very cold all of a sudden.

“You’re not being serious right now.” Portia hissed, sliding her finger in the air along with the outline of the mountains at the far back of the painting.

They were dark against the pink, orange, and blue sky, so was the forest, making Y/N stand out majestically against everything else. The hint of a small white outline in the sky showed the presence of the early moon, welcoming the oncoming night. Y/N couldn’t remember seeing the moon that afternoon, but then again, she didn’t remember much besides the fact that she laughed with Harry that day and he touched her bare thigh. But Portia had miraculously seen what had captured Y/N’s attention as well. The landscape in the painting, though it wasn’t blatantly obvious, it resembled her figure. It swayed where her hips did; dipped where her legs did. It did so in a natural manner, Harry had made them seem like actual mountains and not just a replica of her curves, but Y/N couldn’t see anything else.

“The blue,” Portia said, pointing at Y/N’s dress and then at the slight streak of blue in the sky. “Kinda looks alike, does it not?”

Y/N didn’t pay much attention to it. She started walking away, eager to see the next painting, which she knew was a very special one because it might be the one she remembered the most clearly. As she rounded the planet and started walking toward the fifth one, a huge white orb caught her attention. The detail in all of Harry’s creations caught her off guard, but the moon she was looking at right now looked so real it took her breath away. She saw herself standing in the water; saw the baby blue dress; the knee socks and her Dr Marten’s in the sand. It all looked like a photograph, only the moon was abnormally big. But all his paintings looked so real it was almost like if you stripped the display of the glass protection, you could walk right into the world he’d created on the canvas and live there forever.

“What about you?” he asked again, voice low like a mumble.

Y/N hoped he couldn’t tell how fast her heart was hammering, how every nerve in her entire body was on high alert, how every cell was screaming for him to get closer. “What about me?”

“You’re never as alone as your head makes you believe. The moon is always there.” He said, eyes searching her face. “What about you?”

“Will I always be there?”

He just looked at her, clearly thinking that his look was answer enough.

Her breath hitched somewhere in her throat, and she hoped the rush of emotions that was running through her didn’t show on her face. Portia looked at her with an open mouth before taking in the fifth painting. Y/N knew exactly how her sister was feeling; that overwhelming need to ask herself and everyone else in the room if this was an actual painting, or something from someone’s most desired fantasy captured exactly as it was and printed onto canvas. And maybe it was. But Harry had taken days, weeks, months to finish these paintings, Y/N knew. She remembered those times when she’d watch him paint and he’d refuse to let her see them. She didn’t know why he didn’t want her to see them.

It was so beautiful it was hard to believe someone had made it; it just seemed too celestial for it to be real. She wanted to touch it where Harry had touched it, feel the strokes he’d made, the lines of paint. There was something about this one that sent a shock of pain through her heart no medicine could cure.

“I’d stay up only to get a small glimpse of you.”

She balled her hands into fists, digging her fingernails into her skin to hold herself back from crying. Because all she could remember was how fast Harry had kissed her back when she’d kissed him, the feeling of his lips against hers, and the taste of peach tea on his tongue. His hands roaming her body, gripping onto her thighs as she hooked her legs around his waist. His body against hers, their cells mingling, the moon shining her white light down on them, and the ocean swaying around them.

Portia walked around the planet and onto the next one, and giving the moon one last glance, Y/N followed her. Y/N couldn’t even remember this one. Maybe it was because everything that happened after the wedding blurred together, or maybe she’d just not thought about it enough for it to take up space in her head. But as she got closer, the idea of her being a model for this painting seemed unlikely.

The canvas was black as night, a huge moon in the centre of it like the one before. A figure was floating in the middle of the white moon, a baby blue gown clinging to its form and floating up behind them like they were sinking. As she got closer, Y/N saw that this wasn’t her. All the other paintings were of her, but this one wasn’t. This was Harry.

His arms were floating at an almost 90-degree angle, the baby blue gown hovering behind his arms and torso, just barely covering some of his thighs and crotch. One of his knees was bent a bit more than the other, and the tattoos he had up and down his muscular legs were very visible, making Y/N think back to a time she’d been allowed to touch them. His neck was craned backward, eyes closed and mouth parted ever so slightly, bubbles of air leaving him and making a hasty return for the water’s surface. She remembered his fright of the dark, how much he hated the ocean, but his facial expression showed one of peace. He didn’t seem afraid; didn’t seem like he dreaded any of it. It seemed like he was okay; ready to reach tranquillity and the ultimate meaning to life. He was surrendering himself, it seemed.

“Y/N, I swear to you,” Portia said, pointing at different places on the painting. “Look.”

“At what?”

“You mean you don’t see it?”

“See what, Portia?” Y/N knew she must sound irritated, but with everything going on and all the emotions she was feeling at once, she simply could not hold her anger back.

“The painting,” Portia directed Y/N’s attention back to the canvas. “Do you see?”

Y/N took a closer look.

“Do you see all the blue?”

And it was like her little sister flicked a switch, and suddenly, Y/N saw it. Blue. Baby blue. It was hidden in the waves along the top of the painting, in the shadows of the water, in and around the moon, in his hair, his body, his gown. Taking a few steps back, Y/N wondered how she hadn’t picked up on the blue right away. It was all over the painting. Most of the details on that canvas were baby blue.

Quickly, Y/N walked all the way back to the first painting. Portia just watched her, unsure what was going on, but not wanting to interrupt something if Y/N had come to some sort of realisation.

The only blue in the first one was her dress, in the second one, the sky resembled her dress some. In the third, the sky, ocean, and a bit of the grass surrounding her held the same colour as her and her dress, and in the fourth the landscape swayed along with her form, the sky, the woods, and certain highlights were the exact colour of the dress. How hadn’t she seen it all the first time around? Because once she took a few steps back, the baby blue stood out starkly against everything else. Marching straight past the fifth and the sixth, Y/N wanted to see the last two. Because the second to last put the finishing touch on everything.

The entire canvas was baby blue. Her form was outlined in white, but none of her features were shown. Her breasts, face, or any other part of her body was not included. But Y/N would remember that exact pose till the day she died and long after that also. Because it was the one where Harry had drawn on her; her arms above her head, her knee bent, leg resting over the other. She wondered if this had been the one he’d painted when she laid on the floor of his loft, but why had he been so incredibly detailed when he painted on her if he was just going to erase it forever? Not include it in one of his masterpieces? It didn’t make any sense.

“You let him draw you like one of his bloody French girls.” Portia hissed, about to burst out laughing when she stopped herself. The room was silent as people walked through the exhibition, neither of them wanted to be thrown out or something to that effect.

Y/N looked at her sister. “Yes.”

Portia’s eyes got wide. “Shut the fuck up.”

“He painted on me.”

“Shut. Up.”

Y/N glanced at the painting again, noting that the only thing on that canvas was the very careful outline of her.

“Exactly how well did you fuck him for him to do that?”

“Portia!” Y/N hissed. “Leave off.”

“I’m serious, Y/N, this seems like the summer of your entire life.” Portia smiled, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Did he do you good at least?”

Y/N only gave her a look.

“Oh, come on.” Portia pouted. “I just found out my sister has been shagging with my boss all summer, I want the deets.”

“Can that happen another time? I’m a little busy-“ Y/N gestured around her and Portia nodded, clearly eager to be done here so she could hear Y/N explain everything to her over the phone on her commute home.

“You know,” Portia started, holding up the leaflet. “If you’d just bothered and taken the time to look in the brochure, there’s a lot of information about all the paintings.”

Y/N frowned.

“I kind of had my suspicions about the two of you before you even said something just now.”

Y/N looked down at her brochure, reading the front of it again as she walked toward the last painting. She wanted to go through everything one more time and read the leaflet, she needed to know all the details and all the reasons why Harry had done what he’d done. When she glanced up again, the first thing she noticed was how the planet surrounding the canvas was glowing. A dark golden colour, looking a little like the moon, but as if it was on fire on the inside, the surface of it pure gold. She turned around and looked down the row of planets, meeting Portia’s eyes right after.

“The first one is black,” Portia said. “And the last one is golden.”

Y/N felt her heart hammering faster, felt herself begin to sweat.

“With each planet, you slowly fade into-“

“-Venus.” She finished, looking at the last planet she’d been named after. Y/N Venus Sweeney. She was so overwhelmed she felt a little faint, though she hadn’t known what to expect from the exhibition, this – all of it – was not it. She didn’t want to draw conclusions and think this whole collection was about her, but right now, looking at everything around her, it was hard to think anything else.

She still had one more painting to go, so she grabbed the leaflet and walked to stand in front of it. Instantly, she remembered it. She’d seen this one before. It seemed like ages ago, but she had seen this painting. It was the same one Gioele had stolen from Harry’s house and given to Salvatore and Carina as a wedding gift. Y/N had no idea why that one would be in the collection, what had made Harry put it there. She was just about to open the brochure and read what it said about this particular one when she heard a commotion behind her. The screeching of joggers against the floor as if someone was running, some gasps, Jamie shouting something.

Y/N turned around, and she recognised him right away. Her heart immediately started screaming his name. He walked down the row of planets in a haste, frantically scanning the crowds surrounding each quickly till he came to the last one where she stood. He stopped abruptly as his eyes landed on hers, a sigh of relief leaving him in between pants for air. Had he been running? Quickly, he swallowed, trying to regain his composure before he did anything. While he did that, Y/N took him in.

His hair had grown, he must’ve trimmed it some since last summer, but his curls were lush, his hair thick, and just as brown as she remembered it. He was wearing a colour-block patchwork cardigan with all the colours of the rainbow, a white tee shirt with some blue artwork printed on it, washed denim jeans, and his signature pink Converse. He looked healthy, maybe not as tan as she remembered him to be, but he looked good. He looked like the same Harry she had fallen in love with back then; it was still him. He was here. Right before her. After months apart, he was here.

“Y/N.” He said, voice faint as he took a reluctant step forward. It was like he realised what he was doing – getting closer to her when he had no idea if she still wanted that - and was almost about to take a step backward again but stopped himself.

She was unable to say anything at all. One second she had been about to take in the last painting of the collection, and the next Harry had rushed into his gallery and now he stood right in front of her. It didn’t seem real. The months they hadn’t talked, the months they hadn’t seen each other. They all hung in the air between them, pushed them apart from one another; demanding them to keep separated. She wanted to defy their distance, wanted to fling herself into his arms and melt into him like she had done so many times before, but the uncertainty, the separation, and the many curious eyes watching them stopped her.

Harry was about to say something else when his eyes fell on something behind her, clamping his mouth shut.

“Hi,” Portia said. “Don’t know if you remember me.”

“I-I do, I…” Harry’s eyes fell to Y/N again as he trailed off, glancing back at Portia after clearing his throat. “Portia.”

“And you’re H. Styles.” Y/N could hear the smile in Portia’s voice, and Y/N knew instantly she was taking the piss, telling Harry she knew exactly who he was and why he was here. Whispers were heard, as if the visitors all suddenly realised who they were looking at. Someone gasped and someone on the other side of the room started walking closer. Harry looked around him as if he just understood what he’d done by coming here. Their eyes met again, and Harry let out a sigh.

“Can we talk?” he asked, eyes big and pleading. “Please.”

Y/N looked at everyone around them, then back at Harry, hoping he’d understand that she didn’t want to do it in front of everyone else. Taking a few steps backward, Harry began walking towards the exit of the exhibition, making sure Y/N caught up with him before he started walking normally. Y/N glanced at Portia over her shoulder, but Portia was grinning so widely Y/N knew her sister was okay with her leaving her behind for a bit.

The next room they entered was just as dark as the first one, but the paintings were huge projections onto the walls, ceiling, and floor, showcasing all the details each of them portrayed. Harry walked quickly through the room, having seen this multiple times before – having created this -, but Y/N slowed. The attention to detail was incredible; it looked so real, yet it still looked like art. She was never able to really put her finger on it, but then again, she supposed that was what creativity was. The lines between what was certain and what was a craft from someone’s imagination, blurred to the point of doubt, yet it’s human nature to find an explanation for everything; but in art we find an excuse not to have one. Maybe that was what drew people to it; it was real, but not real enough to need reason.

He held the door open for her, leading her to a smoking area in the back of the gallery. Two trees rose up, some dead grass sprung up between the stone flooring, and, thankfully, no one was there. The sun was still shining, and somewhere not too far off, an ambulance siren was going off. It was weird to be with Harry in an environment other than quiet, warm, rural Fosdinovo, it was almost as if she associated him with the peace of the Italian countryside now. But she didn’t mind having him here in London. Not in the least. In fact, she liked it very much.

“Y/N,” he repeated, almost as if he didn’t really know what else to say; almost as if he had to repeat her name over and over and over again to tell himself that she was really here. He just looked at her, studying her intently, probably to make sure she was okay.

“I didn’t know…” she started, blinking a few times. “Didn’t know you were in London.”

“I’m in London.”

“But I didn’t know you were.”

“But I am.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Harry sighed. “No.”

“Why?”

Harry opened his mouth but hesitated. “I… I just… It’s not as if I…” he ran a hand through his hair, sighing again. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

She frowned. “What made you think that?”

“We haven’t talked in a couple of months, have we? Maybe you’d forgotten about me.”

“You think I’d forgotten about you?” Y/N crossed her arms. “I’m not the one who got disinterested and pulled away.”

Harry’s face screwed up into that familiar scowl she had seen so many times before. “I never bloody lost interest, what’re you on about?”

“Seemed that way over text.”

“Those are text messages!” Harry gestured with his arms, very obviously frustrated. “How much can you tell from a text?!”

“A lot!”

Harry groaned. “Y/N, please.”

She stood her ground, looking at him and waiting for him to say something that would change her mind. How had they gone months without talking, months before that with barely any communication, and he didn’t think she’d be annoyed at him for that. She was annoyed at herself, too. It takes two to communicate.

“I don’t want to fight.” He said. “I… I just… I don’t want to fight. Can we just talk?”

“We’re talking.”

Harry’s eyes fell to the ground, nodding a bit before he dared look up at her. “What’ve you been up to?”

Though she wanted to yell at him, tell him that she’d been busy writing and researching her dissertation, that she had been busy missing him, she composed herself. She might be frustrated, but Harry was trying, so she should as well.

“Uni,” she simply said. “And you?”

Harry let out a short breath through his nose. “Figured, stupid question, really.”

She couldn’t help the slight tug at the edge of her lips.

“Been travelling the world, showing off the exhibition.” He gestured back at the gallery. “It’s been wonderful, but I’m glad it’s over now. Can relax for a bit before I start painting for clients again.”

“It’s quite the exhibit.”

Harry nodded.

“Almost a little too extra.”

He let out a chuckle, eyes falling to the ground again. “You think?”

“Wasn’t it hard travelling around with all of that?” Y/N asked, thinking about the huge planets – or rather Venuses – back in the exhibition. Seemed unlikely that they travelled far distances with all of that, but then again, what did she know, she hadn’t talked to him in a long while. And when they did talk, it wasn’t about the transportation of his collection from country to country because he never talked about it.

“No, we drove around most of the time, then by plane when it got to travelling from continent to continent.”

She nodded. “Fair enough.”

His eyes flicked between hers, inhaling slowly. The sun hit the top of his hair, making his locks shine like gold, and Y/N remembered the countless number of times before she’d seen his hair like that in the early morning light, or a bright sunset. Memories are supposed to bring you joy, especially those remembered with fondness, but those are also the ones that hurt the most to relive.

“Are we really gonna chat about anything but what we want to chat about?” Harry asked, face very serious all of a sudden.

“Which is?”

“Us.” Harry said, something in his throat making the word almost sound choked. “And… and…”

She waited, feeling her heart beat harder in her chest.

“And us some more.”

She let out a small chuckle.

“What?”

“Start then.”

She could tell he wanted to frown at her, as if he wanted her to have a certain reaction. But he didn’t, instead he let his shoulders fall a bit, taking her in for a few moments more before he decided to start talking again.

“I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

It hurt every time he said that, as if he didn’t believe that what she’d felt this summer wasn’t half of what he had.

“Tortured me to think about you.”

She took a little step backward, not wanting to listen to him talk on about how she’d hurt him.

“But the thought of you also brought me peace, as it always has. Brought me inspiration and motivation.” He took a step closer to her. “I miss you. I’ve missed you since the day I was brought into this world, I never knew I did till I was without you.”

Those three words radiated throughout her entire body, her heart screaming them right back at his. I miss you I miss you I miss you I-

“Please don’t…” he trailed off, balling his hands into fists as if he was mad at himself for not finding the right words for what he was feeling. “Don’t leave.”

She swallowed, not wanting the hundreds of butterflies and warm feelings in her chest to get the better of her when she answered. “Don’t leave… now? In general?-“

“-Don’t leave me. If not as a lover, as a friend. I need you in my life to some capacity.”

“Harry-“

“-I’m in love with you, Y/N.” His voice was so soft, yet urgent. He needed her to feel the same way, to understand what he was talking about. “I love you.”

Every cell in her body vibrated with the effect of those words, telling Harry she felt the same. In every way one person could love another, she loved him.

“If you even feel a fragment the same, please tell me.” His eyes were so big, pleading with her.

She felt so much all at once, finding the right words – finding words at all – was difficult. Every single part of her tried, her brain working hard and fast so she wouldn’t leave him hanging. But that was exactly what she did. So overwhelmed with absolutely everything today had brought, she couldn’t do anything but feel.

Harry’s jaw visibly tensed with the lack of response. “Or don’t.”

She opened her mouth, brain working a hundred miles a second to find words for him.

“If you don’t, then that’s fine. I won’t pretend it’s not gonna hurt and I’ll need some time to come to terms with it.” He sighed, eyes falling to the ground as if he couldn’t look at her now. “I… I was terrified this would happen.”

She couldn’t just stay fucking silent, she had to say something. Speak you bloody nonce, don’t do him like this. “Harry-“

“-What I’ve been most scared about since we stopped talking is that I played an insignificant role in your life, when you played the most significant in mine.” His eyes were still on the flooring, gripping the ends of his colourful cardigan. “A part you won’t talk about with others, that you keep a secret.”

“I’m not ashamed of this summer, Harry-“

“-I feared you’d never need me like I need you.” He said, voice thick with something resembling torment. “Because I just… I know we have no power over who we end up loving, you meet someone and before you know it, they’re so important to you that imagining a life without them in it is like staring uninspired at a blank canvas. But I’ve chosen to pour every ounce of my love onto you. I’ve chosen you, and I’ll continue to choose you without hesitation and without fail, for the rest of my life.”

She felt her eyes sting, fearing that she’d start crying if he continued on talking. Why was it that before their first kiss, Harry hadn’t been one for talking, but after it he hadn’t dithered? Everything he’d told her since had been so heartfelt and true, she felt like he was putting words to her very own feelings.

The right words wouldn’t come, and she felt like the longer she left him standing there in silence, the longer she let him ramble on, the more catastrophic this would get. Because she felt the same for him, but what she felt was so enormous and she was afraid she’d never find words for it. She wasn’t one for art or expression. She studied science and medicine and animals, she knew all that, but she didn’t know how to tell someone like Harry what he wanted to hear. Most of the time, at least before, he didn’t need her to say anything. Her presence, her touch, her comfort was enough for him. He never expected anything else from her but to reciprocate his feelings. Which she did. Oh, did she love him. More than she thought possible.

“I-“ she started, but cut herself off as she didn’t know where it was going. Harry looked up at her instantly, instant hope in his eyes. “Your exhibit.”

Not the appropriate thing to be talking about right now, she thought to herself, but better than nothing.

“Could you explain it to me?”

He blinked. “Explain it?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling every surface of her body heat up. “Because I knew you were painting me, but I didn’t…”

His eyes lingered on her lips for a second, but he quickly composed himself, a slight redness appearing along his cheekbones. A wave of goosebumps ran up her spine.

“I didn’t expect…”

“Didn’t expect the whole exhibition to be about you?”

She just looked at him, biting her bottom lip.

Harry let out an amused chuckle. “You’re the smartest person I know, thought you might get it right away, to be completely honest with you.”

“It took me off guard.”

“Right, should I walk you through it, then?” Harry gestured at the gallery. “Want to see it?”

She sensed irritation in his voice and sighed. “You don’t have-“

“-Don’t fucking say I don’t have to. You asked about the exhibit. You don’t understand, even though I just made it very clear for you. So, let's.”

He walked toward the door, flinging it open and beckoning for Y/N to walk through it first. Walking first, he stomped straight through the entire exhibition, right past people who were leaving. They all looked over at Y/N and Harry as they walked the opposite way, a few raised eyebrows and some whispering. Portia still stood in the first room with the eight planets, looking up as Y/N and Harry came back. A smile first graced her features, but seeing the look on Harry’s face and how fast they were both walking, she quickly pieced together that something was happening.

“This,” Harry said as they reached the reception, pointing at the wall with the projection of that painting Y/N had found in the flat in Fosdinovo. The drive to his childhood home in Manchester. “You recognise this?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She gave him a look to tell him she didn’t appreciate his tone. He didn’t seem to care.

“Told you the path leads to uncertainty, hence the darkness at the end of it. I didn’t know where my life would lead me and I was terrified. Now,” he pointed to the dark corridor. “What does that lead to?”

Y/N blinked a few times, looking up at Harry when he didn’t continue talking. But he was already glancing down at her, raised eyebrows and a stoic look on his face. Though she was tempted to tell him to shove it if he was going to keep that attitude up, she didn’t. She needed to tell him how she felt, that he wasn’t alone in wanting more. She needed to find the right words. But right now, knowing Harry, he’d just get furious with her if she told him now that he was putting the effort in and showing her what everything meant.

“The paintings.”

“It leads to the exhibition.”

“That’s the same thing.”

Harry didn’t respond, he just walked towards the corridor without looking back. Y/N felt her anger bubble up, but she tried to control it as she followed him to the first room of the exhibition.

“Hope you know what the solar system is.” Harry shouted back to her.

She dug her nails into the palm of her hands, gritting her teeth from responding. Portia was standing at the other side of the room, watching them with wide eyes. Everyone else had left, she realised. The gallery was closing, and Harry’s exhibition needed to be taken down so the next one could be put up. This was his very last day showing his collection. Y/N gave her a look to keep quiet, the last thing Harry needed now was Portia intervening.

“Our solar system’s got eight planets-“

“-I bloody know how many planets there are in our solar system-“

“-But to me and my life,” Harry walked to the side of the room, pointing down at the last planet. The full Venus. Her plant. “In my universe, there’s only one.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“They each fade more and more into Venus. Notice how the first one’s black.”

“Like the end of the painting I found in Fosdinovo.”

Harry’s arm fell to his side, having proven his point on why he’d chosen space to be the theme for his exhibition. He walked on over to the first painting; straight past Y/N, jaw still tense and the look in his eyes enraged. She realised this was torturing him. Going through everything without knowing how she felt, and probably fearing – and believing – the worst. She had to say something.

“This one,” he pointed. “We can barely see you. You were a fucking pain in my arse.”

“Hey!”

“There’s only one dot of baby blue, you’re far away from where I’m standing.”

“If you don’t-“

“-Next one,” he walked onto the second one without Y/N even having reached him and the first painting. “You’re closer to me, still not very close, still not a lot of blue. Only some in the sky. Didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Harry, slow down-“

“-Third,” it seemed he was on a mission, wanting this to be over with as quickly as possible. “You’re close. You can see baby blue in the sky, ocean, your dress, some in the grass. Still not doing it on purpose.”

She jogged over to the fourth as he did, really wanting to take a grip of his arm and tell him to calm down. But she had no right. Not now. But she was still getting annoyed with him.

“Fourth is when I start doing it deliberately. Realised I caught feelings for you, and you can see that in the landscape, how it follows the outline of your body.” Harry pointed just as the lights inside the planets went out. “There’s baby blue in quite literally everything.”

The lack of lights to showcase the paintings didn’t stop him, Harry walked on. She ran after him, about to tell him to slow down again when he walked right past the beach painting with the huge moon.

“The night you changed the moon for me forever. Now I do as you said you do; I talk to her. Every night.”

Y/N felt her heart ache. She wondered, if they were both talking to the moon at the same time, if they were talking about one another, why didn’t the moon whisper Harry’s words into her ear and hers into his? Why didn’t she help them?

“You’re further away in that one ‘cause I realised I’d have to let you go at the end of the summer, didn’t want to get too attached.” A dry laugh slipped past his lips. “Look how well that worked out.”

They stopped in front of the second moon painting, where he was floating in what looked to be the middle of a huge and dark ocean.

“You once told me the moon knows all your deepest secrets and biggest desires,” Harry pointed at himself in the painting. “Here’s me surrendering myself to her.”

“Why’re you in the ocean?”

Harry chuckled, running both hands over his face as if he couldn’t believe her.

“What?”

He looked at her for a few seconds while clenching his jaw. “I used to be terrified of the dark and the ocean. You taught me monsters won’t magically appear just ‘cause you can’t see. They’re just as likely to show themselves in sunlight.” He glanced at the painting again, blinking a few too-many times as he looked away from her. “If you take your time to understand and truly look at this painting, you’ll understand it.”

She was about to open her mouth when Harry said, “And don’t use your ‘I only know science, I barely know how to interpret art’ rubbish.”

“Well, it’s true.” She mumbled, but Harry only clicked his tongue, disinterested in her insistence on not understanding art. He walked on to the next one, the one that was completely baby blue, where her body was carefully outlined in white.

“Here you can clearly tell-“

“-I have a question,” Y/N said, making Harry shut up. “That painting of me… the one where I’m… Where’s that one? I mean…”

Harry stared at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to continue, but when she never did, he mumbled another question right back at her, “You think I’d put a painting of your naked body on display in my exhibition?”

She just looked at him, seeing something in his eyes that was vaguely familiar but too far away to fully grasp.

“I’m keeping that one-“ he stopped himself, swallowing hard. “It’s private.”

She nodded.

“Anyway,” Harry went back to the painting before them. “You represent baby blue to me, so here’s your colour – you -,” he paused for a second. “Becoming everything.”

She looked at him, feeling everything within her wither and bloom at the same time. The painting seemed to take him back to a time long ago, every urge he had to do this as quickly as possible seemed to leave him when he looked at that painting. They still had one left, but he forgot about that, losing himself in a memory. And Y/N lost herself in him. Suddenly, proper lights lit up the room and the stars that had illuminated everything prior, disappeared.

“Harry!”

Harry didn’t meet Y/N’s eyes as he stepped away from the row of planets, looking up at Jamie how had shouted his name.

“Closing time. We need to pack up, mate.”

Harry nodded, looking over at Y/N who suddenly felt her heart pick up speed.

Jamie clapped their hands together. “Come on, you lot, you need to leave.”

For a few moments, it was like the two of them moved in slow motion. Harry took a few steps so he could face the other way, ready to leave through the backdoor, not breaking eye contact with Y/N. Once they looked away from one another, the rest of the world would resume being and they had to leave. Y/N had to say something, she had to tell him. But everything was clogged up somewhere in her throat, she wasn’t able to say anything. This whole exhibit… it was about her. Harry had cared so much about her and he still did. But she couldn’t find the right words. She had to say something. Had to let him know she felt the same way.

Harry’s jaw clenched again before he looked away from Y/N and started walking back down the way he’d taken Y/N before. Everything inside her went into panic mode.

“Harry.” She said, but he didn’t turn around. She started jogging after him. “Harry.”

“Y/N-“

“-Just a sec, Portia!” Y/N continued to follow Harry through the now lit exhibit. “Harry!”

He didn’t turn around still.

“Harry, please.” She took a grip of his arm.

Harry stopped, dragging his arm out of her grip. “Y/N, stop.”

The force of his words took her off guard and it took her a few seconds to compose herself. “I’m sorry.”

Harry nodded, looking behind Y/N at the closing exit door. “What?”

“I… I need to tell you that…” she swallowed, feeling her palms get clammy. “You said earlier that…”

Harry looked at her expectantly, something in the frantic way his eyes moved over her face and the quick breath he took made her think he detected reciprocation in her voice. “Yes?”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her heart was beating hard and fast, she was beginning to sweat.

“What, Y/N?”

“I can’t, I-“ She ran both hands over her face, frustrated with herself. She groaned.

“What?”

“I know how I’m feeling, but I don’t know how to say it.”

Harry took a small step towards her. “Say what?”

“How I feel for you.”

He let out a small breath. “And how’s that?”

“Just how you feel about me.”

There was a single second when Harry’s eyes were filled with elation; like he was ready to embrace her, kiss her, and never let her go. Wanted to become one with her right then and there, to never leave her side again. A ghost of a smile grace his features and his shoulders lowered; his entire composure seemed to relax. As if all the anger he’d been carrying around with him in the gallery disappeared. But the next second, realisation sunk in and he glanced away for a second.

“Need to hear you say it.” He said, voice weak. “Know you say you’re not one for words, but there are moments in life when words are everything.”

Y/N felt a drop of sweat run down her back. Her head was spinning.

“I deserve to hear you say it yourself.” Harry said.

“I know! That’s why I’m trying so hard to say something!”

Harry nodded, eyes falling to the floor. “You’re not ready.”

Y/N frowned, sure her panic showed on her face. “I am ready. That’s why I followed you out here, isn’t it?”

“No, Y/N, you’re clearly not. You might feel it, but being vulnerable is hard for you. Admitting to being vulnerable isn’t something you know how to do.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open.

“Your whole life you’ve put up this cold and hard exterior to protect yourself from feeling too much. You’ve had a hard time receiving the love you needed while growing up, and you’ve been burned in the past-“

“-Don’t psychoanalyse me.” She pointed a finger at him. “You know I have a hard time opening up to people completely.”

“You have a hard time admitting to letting your guard down. You do it willingly, but there’s a part of you that just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I said don’t psycho-“

“-I know, I’m sorry.” Harry took a few steps back, as if getting ready to walk away from her. “I’ll wait.”

She blinked. “For what?”

“You.”

“Me?”

Harry nodded, just about to turn around and leave when she called his name again.

“You just begged me to tell you I felt the same way, and I did.” Y/N said, taking a few steps toward him, but stopping herself. “I told you.”

“That you felt like I did.”

“Exactly.”

Harry let out a small chuckle and though it sent a swarm of butterflies straight to Y/N’s stomach, it also hurt because she knew the next few words would send her into a panic. “And thank you for that, but I told you how I felt. Now you need to tell me. Physical show of affection is nice, but proper verbal confirmation that someone loves you…” he trailed off, looking at her in silence for some seconds. “It’s key.”

“Harry-“

“-I love you.”

She fell silent, taken off guard. But the words warmed her so that she was sure she’d never freeze again. He started walking away.

“I’ll wait, you need to figure this out on your own. I know,” smiling he continued, “Now I need you to comprehend.”

Mouth falling open as she tried to force herself to say something, she cursed herself over and over again for having built up that humongous wall around her. Being vulnerable was like admitting that you were weak, and she knew those two weren’t the same thing at all, but she’d associated them with one another her whole life. She needed to stop.

“I’ll wait for you.”

And just like that, Harry left her this time. She was tempted to run after him again, but to what purpose? To have him tell her yet again that he needed her to tell him she loved him when she couldn’t bring herself to? To hurt him again? No, she was going to deal with her struggles to admit vulnerability herself. He deserved to hear her say everything he’d just told her and much more. And hopefully Harry would still love her the way he did now by that time. How terrified she already was that he didn’t.

But if that was the case, at least she’d have taught herself the importance of vulnerability.

Thursday, 10 September 2020

“Smile, baby.” Elaine brought her phone up, snapping a picture of Y/N with her diploma in hand, standing in front of her University.

It was a nice day; the sun was shining through a thin layer of clouds and the temperature was high, but not so high that Y/N was struggling to breathe. All her course mates were milling around behind, beside, and around her, saying their last goodbyes before everyone was to part ways after this. It had been bittersweet saying goodbye to her mates. She knew she was going to see them again and knew she would be happier now that she didn’t have to care about uni, but it would be sad not seeing them and not knowing when she would meet them next. Though she hadn’t really been close with any of them, she still counted them as her friends and would miss their time together.

Portia stood beside Elaine and gave Y/N a little applause, grinning from ear to ear as her sister walked over to them again. “Look at you, all smart.”

“Yes,” Y/N said, doing a little dance with her diploma. “I’d like to think I am.”

“Look,” Elaine begged Y/N over so she could look at the pictures she’d taken of her. “You look lovely, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, the lighting’s amazing.”

“So peng.” Portia said, zooming in on Y/N’s face.

Y/N playfully hit Portia in the head with her diploma, making the two sisters chuckle before they turned back to their mother. Elaine smiled at Y/N, there was a look in her eyes Y/N wasn’t accustomed to seeing on her mother’s face when looking at her. It was something she often directed at Portia, but Y/N rarely got this. Pride. It almost made Y/N’s eyes sting with oncoming tears.

“Come on, girls,” Elaine said, taking each of her daughters’ hands. “We need to celebrate. What’s a good pub around yours, Y/N?”

“Hmm,” Y/N thought for a few seconds. “There’s a Gregg’s two minutes away.”

“Sausage rolls!” Portia exclaimed.

“We’re not celebrating you getting a degree at bloody Gregg’s, are you dim?” Elaine huffed, unlocking the car once they reached it. “We need to get a pint each, and a fancy dinner later.”

“Reckon we could afford a fancy dinner in London, Mum?” Y/N sat down in the car, putting her seatbelt on as Elaine started the car. “I’m skint.”

“Well, you’re not the one paying for the dinner, are you?” Elaine raised her eyebrows at her, driving away towards Y/N’s flat in Hackney. Portia reached into the backseat where Y/N sat, squeezing her knee before she sat back and focused on the city they were driving in. Y/N leaned forward and squeezed Portia’s shoulder.

“Thank you for coming, P. Know you have a lot going on at the moment, but it meant a lot to me that you bothered to come.”

Porta looked over her shoulder at Y/N, studying her sister for a second before she smiled. “Might be busy, but it’s your graduation. It’s important to me.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up a bit, something they always did when she managed to discuss her feelings. “Thank you anyway.”

“You’re very welcome.” Portia’s smile widened, and she grabbed Y/N’s hand, kissing it before turning to look ahead again.

Y/N smiled herself, sitting back in her seat and looking out the window.

She’d never really gotten attached to London. Maybe it was because she didn’t really have anyone she was close to, or the constant fast-paced lifestyle you had to lead to live there. Y/N had always preferred a slow life, like the one she had grown up knowing in Maldon. Essex was calm, it was what she’d known her whole life and what she wanted to know forever. Regardless of where she wanted to live and where she felt she belonged; she’d gotten a job at North London Veterinary Clinic so she didn’t really have much of a choice in where she could settle down for a little while. North London wasn’t as busy as Central, so she wouldn’t be as overwhelmed as she usually was. She’d have to move and though the thought stressed her out, she was ready for a little change. It would be good for her.

“Do you remember that guy I was chatting to for a little while?” Portia suddenly asked, snapping Y/N out of her reverie.

“Drake?”

“No.”

“That Felix lad?”

“Not him.”

“Ezra?”

Portia shook her head.

“Jackson-“

“-Oh, for fuck’s sake, Y/N,” Portia turned around in her seat. “Do you have to rub it in?”

“That you date a lot of men? I don’t have to do that; you know it perfectly well yourself.”

Portia rolled her eyes. “Azeem.”

“Ahh! Azeem!” Y/N nodded her head, giving her little sister a smile. “Remember you talked about him, yes. Ages ago, though.”

Portia seemed to think back to the time she was talking to Azeem, getting lost in her own thoughts for a few short seconds before she blurted out, “Anyway, I met him on a night out like two days ago.”

“You did? What’d he say?”

“Just that it was nice to see me again.” Portia said. “Told me I looked good. And then he walked me home.”

In an attempt to come to terms with how she was feeling and letting other people know, it had been one of the first things Y/N had done. She sat Portia down when she came back to London, told her she loved the fact her sister came down and that they got to spend time together because it brought them closer – and she wanted to be close to her sister since they’d struggled being just that growing up -, but Portia needed her own place. If she was going to spend that much time in the capital, she might as well move there permanently. Elaine had struggled to come to terms with the fact that her youngest daughter would be moving out, especially considering how much time and resources she’d put into Portia and her career. But both the sisters had convinced their mother that this was what Portia needed to do. She needed to become independent. And besides, Portia wouldn’t be alone in London, Y/N lived there as well.

“And…?” Y/N urged, raising her eyebrows to show she was eager to know what happened next.

“He asked me out on a date.”

“He did?!” Y/N grinned. “Why did you stop seeing each other in the first place?”

Portia sighed. “It was hard to not see him very often, we lived far away from one another, and all that. But now that I live in London, maybe it’ll work out.”

“Is he a decent bloke, Y/N?” Elaine looked in the driving mirror back at Y/N. “I won’t take Portia’s word for it. You know she’s blinded by a good shag when she’s got one.”

“Mum!” Portia exclaimed. “Don’t say that! You’re not allowed to say that!”

“Say what? What you always tell me? You talk about lads and your sex life constantly.”

“I do not! Oh, my God!”

Y/N laughed, zoning out as her little sister and mother started arguing in the front. They soon reached Hackney and Y/N’s flat building. It felt weird knowing that Thursday next week, she’d be moving out of this flat and into a new one. Though Hackney wasn’t the nicest place to be living in London – or the nicest place to just be walking through – it had been Y/N’s home for five years now. Sure, she spent loads of time in Maldon and Essex, but this was her place in London. But soon, Hampstead would probably be it. It wasn’t that the commute would be horrible from Hackney and up to North London, but she would rather have a stroll to work in the morning instead of using public transit. It was bloody unbearable on the tube in the mornings sometimes.

They exited the car and Y/N rummaged through her purse for her keys, giving them to Portia when she reached her hand out for them.

“Thanks, babes.” Y/N said, getting her diploma out of the car seat before closing the door and letting their mother lock the car.

Portia glanced at Y/N for a little while, a grin spreading out over her lips.

“What?” Y/N asked, gesturing for her sister to unlock the door so they could walk on in.

“Dunno,” Portia shrugged, putting the key in the hole and turning it. “You never call me ‘babe’ or anything like that, but you’ve started recently.”

“Been watching too much Love Island.”

Portia laughed, holding the door open for her mother and sister. The lot of them walked up the stairs to the second story, about to let Y/N change out of her heels so they could go have a pint and then go out to dinner. Though she wouldn’t look as smashing as she did with her heels on, they would ultimately kill her feet and she was not about that life today. She’d just gotten a degree, she was going to feel good all day. So fuck heels.

They reached Y/N’s door and she let Portia unlock that one as well. Her flat was as simplistic as always; one single room with a small kitchen, a bed, a desk, and a door to a small bathroom. Elaine walked over to the desk, sitting down in Y/N’s office chair while Portia bent down and picked up something behind the door.

“Mail.” She said, giving Y/N a few envelopes.

“Thanks.” Y/N took it, looking through the envelopes to see nothing interesting. A couple of bills, some rubbish, and…

“Where are we going after this then?” Elaine asked, looking from Y/N to Portia. But Y/N didn’t hear what Portia was answered because she was too busy reading the small slip of paper that told her she’d gotten a parcel. Everything that was too big to slip through the mail slot was out into a cupboard on the outside of Y/N’s flat. Beside her front door was another, smaller door where her electricity metre was. If she wasn’t in to receive the parcel herself, she’d written on her mail slot to just pop it in there.

She put all her mail down on the kitchen counter before walking outside to check the cupboard. Upon opening it, she saw a single brown parcel, though it looked more like a gift than anything. She reached for it, bringing it out into proper lighting. She read her own address on the front, and when turning it around, she found it a little hard to breathe. Had he…

Y/N walked back into the flat, closing the door behind her and placing the package on the kitchen counter so she could unpack it. She knew Elaine and Portia were talking behind her about something, probably where they were going to go have their pint, but Y/N could not focus on anything but what was right in front of her. Ripping the paper off, a sea of colour was revealed to her and she recognised what she was looking at right away.

“A sunny morning in Essex.” Y/N smiled, looking at him. “The most beautiful sight in the world, if I may say so.”

“Oh, is it?” he asked, putting the brush away and placing his hand on her thigh, turning to face her.

“Uh-huh.” Her smile widened some as he moved closer to her, brushing his nose gently against hers.

“I can think of more beautiful sights than a sunrise in bleeding Essex.”

She ran her hand over it, feeling the strokes of paint she’d put there with Harry’s help. It wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the paintings in his collection, but it was the most breath-taking creation she’d ever laid her eyes upon. It was something she’d made with Harry. It was art. Picking it up, something fell to the kitchen counter. An envelope.

“What’s that?” Portia asked, but Y/N couldn’t answer.

She put the canvas back down on the counter and reached for the envelope, tearing it open. It was his handwriting and she suddenly longed for him again. Months had gone by, but she thought about him every day. He was always with her, always motivated her; made her want to be better. And seeing something the two of them made a year ago, reliving the memory of them sitting close and creating something beautiful in the warm Italian summer night, it made her yearn in a way she never had before.

‘Complimenti per la laurea, celeste.’

Looking down on the canvas again, she suddenly recognised it. The landscape resembled the one in Tuscany, the one she had walked through and lived in all last summer. And in the corner was a white house, almost like a mansion of sorts, but not as big as some of the houses she’d passed on the countryside. She didn’t remember painting that. In fact, she barely remembered painting anything but the colour of the sunrise. Orange, yellow, blue. Harry must’ve completed the painting after she left.

“Y/N,” Portia said, now standing by her sisters’ shoulder. “Is that one of his paintings?”

Y/N just looked at he canvas, unable to say anything.

“Is that one of his fucking paintings?” Portia gasped, looking at Elaine and back at Y/N. “Imagine how much that is worth!”

“I’m not gonna sell his painting, Tia.”

“No, but-“ Portia gestured at the artwork, squealing. “What’d the card say?”

“Think he’s congratulating me on graduating.” Y/N put the card down, looking at the painting again. The room fell silent as nosy Elaine probably didn’t know which of her questions to ask first, Portia looked dumbfounded at the canvas, and Y/N yet again lost herself in daydreams of Harry. He knew she was graduating today. Sent her their painting. He congratulated her on finally getting her degree. He was still thinking about her like she was thinking about him. One of Y/N’s fears with taking so long to figure herself out, he’d somehow move on. But she believed in him enough, knew how she felt well enough, to know that they’d see each other again.

“You have to leave.” Portia said. “Y/N, it’s been six months.”

“I know.”

“You have to go to bloody Italy right this second.” Portia looked around Y/N’s flat. “Where’s your bag?”

“What about my life here? I’m starting a new job next week, I’m moving.”

“Figure that stuff out next week.” Portia smiled. “You’ve grown so much in the last few months, Y/N. You’re softer now, not so prone to fighting people for not having the same opinion as you, but you listen and you’re willing to change. Not for the world, but for yourself. Harry didn’t tell you to embrace tenderness just so you could admit how you were feeling about him, but also so you’d be nicer to yourself.”

“But I already am.”

“I know, but he wanted you to allow more love into your life. By seizing love and allowing yourself to feel, not only self-love, but the love of others, you allow yourself to live fully and completely.” Portia squeezed Y/N’s shoulder. “Without regret, without apology.”

Y/N smiled a little at her sister, studying her face. “Portia Cressida, when the fuck did you become so wise?”

“Can’t let people know I know shit or else I’ll ruin my dumb image.”

The girls laughed, and Portia rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder, glancing at the painting Harry had gifted her sister.

“Go, Y/N.”

Saturday, 12 September 2020

She remembered Italy to be hot, but something about Italy in autumn was almost unbearable. Everything was still a lush green, nothing had changed outdoors since last year it seemed, everything still looked the same. But Y/N wondered how that was possible when she wasn’t even in the southern part of Tuscany anymore, she was in Veneto, a county further up north. North-west Italy looked as summery in autumn as Y/N would’ve expected it to, and she loved it. Though she didn’t like the sun much, she’d come to appreciate it more than the rain of England. Besides, she could stand the heat if it meant meeting Harry again.

She’d called Jamie yesterday, asked them where she’d be able to meet Harry. She knew she could’ve just asked Harry, but she also wanted to see the surprise on his face when he saw her on his doorstep. So, she hadn’t told him she was coming. Which could either end with them living happily ever after or him saying he didn’t feel the same anymore. Thinking about the latter gave her a panic attack.

She hadn’t brought much with her, just a small bag as a carry-on and the clothes she was wearing. A see-through red, yellow, white, and pink tie dye crop top, showing off her cute black bralette underneath, a washed-out pair of high-waisted boyfriend denim jeans, and a black pair of Dr Marten’s. Though it had gotten a bit chilly on the plane, she knew Italy would be hot, and she had been very right about that. Besides, she needed to look extra cute now that she was seeing Harry again for the first time in six months.

The bus ride wasn’t as bumpy as the one she’d taken to Fosdinovo, the bus was new, and she trusted the driver to know if something was wrong. She hadn’t trusted Gioele to know the same, which she applauded herself for in retrospect. The bus was fairly new and the road to Padua, Veneto was nice. She’d done some research and figured out the reason why Harry might’ve moved up north and close to Padua. It was a city known for art; spectacularly pretty and often overlooked by Venice, a mere hour-drive away. Knowing Harry, he’d probably walk through the quieter streets of Venice to get inspiration or sit on a corner café in Padua to people-watch. She knew he wanted to get out of Fosdinovo, but he hadn’t been able to remove himself entirely from the Italian culture he had immersed himself in. His love for that country was too great for him to ever truly leave.

Reaching Padua, Y/N got off and got a taxi right away. She told the driver where she was going, and though it was a bit out of town and onto the countryside – not to Y/N’s surprise, Harry liked quiet after all – he agreed to get her there. It took them about 30 minutes to reach the house, and when they did, it was a simple gravel path. She obviously had to walk for a bit to get there, but she was glad she got to take in Harry’s new residence in the calmness that was the outskirts of Padua. She could make out the white house at the end of the road, the newly sown trees that lined the path, and knew when they had grown to their full height, they would envelope the drive like a tunnel of green leaves and nature. Y/N smiled a little to herself as she imagined it, knowing that Harry most likely had the exact same thought in mind.

It was nice seeing how he decided to live now, especially after everything that happened in Fosdinovo. Secluded, but a couple of neighbours a few minutes’ walk up or down the cemented road she’d just been on. It was undoubtedly his new paradise. And by the looks of it, the closer she got, it seemed he was still working on the house. White and grand, with huge French windows and sheer curtains on either side of them all, there was still some construction work going on on the outside, though the workers weren’t working today it seemed. It was only 12pm, but maybe Harry wanted them to take the day off to relax. She’d ask him, she told herself, because she was now in the driveway, viewing the red front door, looking in through the windows to see if she saw him. Her heart was hammering so fast in her chest that she noticed her tie dye top vibrating with each beat.

Reaching forwards, she pressed the doorbell, taking a step back so the door wouldn’t hit her in the face when he opened it. Nearly as quickly as it had gone off, she heard something very familiar inside the house. Spending time around animals nearly all the time, Y/N’s puppy radar went off when she heard the tiny barks of a baby dog inside. Immediately, her mouth fell open, and she walked to the closest window to look inside.

Down a white tiled corridor, the light from the massive windows on the other side of the house shining down on him, a puppy came running down on his big paws, his tail wagging so wildly his little bum moved with it.

“Hi.” Y/N cooed when he reached the window, standing on his back-paws to get a better look of her and bark some more. “Who’re you then? What’s your name?”

He sniffed the glass as if trying to get a sniff of her, but he whimpered when he couldn’t. And as Y/N got a good look of the little guy, she realised something very quickly that made her almost fall backward onto the gravel of the driveway. A Scottish deerhound.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Y/N said under her breath, walking back to the front door and ringing the doorbell again. Why was it that Harry had trouble answering the bloody door every time? She stood her ground this time, the puppy still barking at her and watching her in anticipation, ready to jump onto her the second Harry opened the door. But he didn’t. So this time she knocked on his door with her fist, not about to wait around for hours. She knew he was in. A puppy couldn’t be left alone in a big house like this, he’d either have to put him in a cage or take the pup with him.

With no response, Y/N decided to explore the outside of his house. Giving the pup a little wave, she stepped down from the front step, taking in the marble pillars on either side that held a small roof above the front door. The house was incredibly elegant and new. Had he built it himself? She walked around the side, admiring the huge garden and the tall stone fence that secluded it from everything else. There were a couple of trees that stood around a tiny pond, and it seemed he’d taken the time to put a grey stone bench beside it. The rest of the garden was newly trimmed and grand, though pretty empty still. There seemed to be the start of a pretty big doghouse beside another tree, and something else that might be the start of a veranda. Maybe he’d just about moved in. It would explain why everything looked so new, anyway.

It felt like Harry, though. All of it. Elegant yet simple, big but not too much. He was a simplistic person who loved grand things. The thought of him moving into a new house, probably a little anxious to meet new people and to get acquainted with his new life in a new town, it made her smile. He was restless and would move in a few years, but for now, this was exactly what he needed, she knew.

Faint, but Y/N still heard it with every single part of her being, a meow sounded from behind her. Turning around, there stood a striped cat looking over at her. She hesitantly moved forward and Y/N felt like breaking down crying.

“Viola,” Y/N hunched down. “Hi, baby.”

The cat made her way over quite hastily when she recognised who the person was, rubbing herself against Y/N’s outstretched hands. She’d grown, yet Y/N would know this little creature anywhere. She’d often wondered what happened to Viola, because when she left, she assumed Harry would take care of her till he left. But here she was. Had he brought her with him everywhere? She reached down, pressing a soft kiss to Viola’s forehead like she always did, and the cat meowed in response. Y/N giggled, the feel and sound of Viola brought her right back to her time in Fosdinovo. The cat had been there for her every single day, putting a smile on her face. They gave each other a home for a month.

Thinking she might explore more of the grounds, she stood upright, and Viola immediately perked up, ready to follow Y/N wherever she decided to go. Her eyes suddenly landed on a glass house attached to the mansion, and then on the figure standing by the open door leading into it. The inside of the winter garden was fully furnished, unlike the rest of the property that lacked the same attention. She couldn’t believe this. Not only was this Harry’s dream home, it was hers as well.

Their eyes met, and a jolt so intense rocked through Y/N’s body that it shook up everything. She fell in love with him all over again, seeing him there, looking right back at her with a look of startlement and longing and relief. She couldn’t wait any longer, she had to be close to him. Taking the first few steps, she felt the inside of her tummy vibrate as the butterflies inside her came to life again. The closer she got to him, the more every single part of her body tickled, itching to hold him again. And when it seemed to have dawned on Harry that this wasn’t a dream, he started walking toward her as well. The closer they got the more they picked up the pace. It had been too long, they had taken too much time, they had worked on each other for one another and for themselves.

Y/N threw herself into his chest and Harry wrapped his arms around her so tightly she was sure she’d fade into him. Though it had taken them so much to get to this moment, it had taken them a while for a reason. People needed to work on one another and for each other to make a relationship work, it didn’t just magically happen. And sometimes people need to be apart for a little while to gain perspective and mature enough to return. Harry needed someone who could be as open as him, and Y/N needed someone who wasn’t afraid to be himself to the fullest, without apology.

They broke apart, eager to look at one another again. Harry’s eyes moved over her frantically, taking her in again. He was wearing another silk shirt, tucked into high-waisted washed out denim jeans, and barefoot. Something about his bare feet was adorable. And the fact they were basically wearing the same jeans made her stifle a laughter.

“Hi,” she said, unsure how else to greet him.

He chuckled. “What the fuck, Y/N.”

“What?”

“You’re here.” He said, smiling at her. “I… I had no idea. But you’re here.”

“I’m here.”

He took her hand, squeezing it, looking her up and down. “Here.”

She smiled as well, feeling her hand heat up here his skin met hers. When he looked up at her again, eyes glistening, face lit up more than she’d ever seen before, dimples as deep as ever, she felt like tearing up. This was the man of her dreams; the man she wanted to spend every day with till death. And even after that she’d find him in their next life, or she’d find him in her afterlife, or wherever else they’d end up. There was no one else. Would never be anyone else.

“This is a big place.” She said, gesturing at the house and the rest of the estate.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, still looking at their joined hands. “Started building it back in March.”

“Big place for a big lad.”

Harry laughed, looking up at her again. “Need enough space for Viola and Gopher to wander.”

Y/N’s heart did a dreamy sigh. “Gopher?”

“Oh!” Harry pointed behind him at the house. “He was the one barking.”

“The puppy?”

“Yeah.”

She bit her lips together, looking down at their hands. “You adopted a puppy.”

Silence for a few moments before Harry said, in such a soft voice she swore it felt like a caress, “He’s been waiting for you.”

She glanced up again, happiness so overwhelming filled her to the point that she felt like flying. Eyes landed on the house and then back on Harry as he ran his thumb over her hand.

“Don’t you remember that day in the car last summer, when you first met Jamie?”

She didn’t at first, but it hit her like a truck and she almost gasped out loud. Harry only smiled a little at her, having remembered her words this whole time.

“A Scottish deerhound.”

“They’re quite big, aren’t they? Can’t remember how they look, but I think I know.” The phone was in Jamie’s hand, typing the name of the breed into the Google search bar.

“I’ve always wanted one. Always wanted to move to the outskirts of Maldon with two deerhounds. That’s where I want to settle down, I think.” She said. “With a winter garden and a big property so the dogs can run freely.”

She shook her head, not wanting to believe Harry had done this.

“Harry…”

“It’s not Maldon, or Essex, or England for that matter,” he said, stepping aside so she could look at the house. “But I tried to make it like you said, with some pieces of me in it, if that’s okay.”

The resemblance it held to the last painting of Harry’s exhibit was incredible, the same painting that had been stolen by Gioele. The painting Harry had an emotional attachment to of sorts. It was because it was this. It was the house. It was the place he hoped she’d settle down. With him.

“Wanna take a look inside?”

She smiled at him. “Please.”

He smiled back, letting go of her hand so they could walk into the winter garden. Viola followed them, strolling in through the door before Harry closed it. He took her into his arms and walked over to the door that led into the house, opening it and letting Viola walk away before closing the door again. They were left in silence, a few of the windows were open to let some air in or else the room would undoubtedly get incredibly hot with the sun shining right in. The roof was shaped like a spire, the whole glasshouse a half-circle, and green plants lined the window wall. Vines hung gracefully along some of the stiles, and in the middle of it all stood a big blue velvet ottoman. The whole place had a gothic feel to it and Y/N absolutely adored it. When she’d pictured a winter garden, she’d just wanted a place she could relax outdoors during wintertime, but this was something else entirely. It had a Harry feel to it, but it also felt like her.

“What do you think?” Harry asked, leaning his back against the windows.

“It’s amazing.” She mused, looking around. “Harry… I’m speechless.”

“Tried to make it into something that I knew you’d like. That’s why I painted it first and had an architect sketch the outline of the house after.” Harry explained. “Hope it falls into liking.”

She looked over at him, for the first time in ages, seeing the hint of doubt in his eyes again. Simply not able to help herself, she walked over to him, hesitating a bit before placing a hand to his cheek. He leaned into her, closing his eyes for a second and letting a sigh of relaxation leave his lips.

“I love it, I haven’t even seen the inside of the house, but I love it.” She told him, studying his dark eyelashes against his cheekbones. “And I love you.”

Harry’s eyes shot open, looking straight into hers. The absolute joy in them made the colour of his irises more radiant, and it was almost as if the sun shone a little brighter. As if the world fell into place; like how it was supposed to be all along.

“I love you.” She repeated, softer this time around.

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice sounded like a whisper; a plea for her to really, really, really feel it – what was between them – like he did.

“I’m in love with you, Harry.”

He grabbed the back of her neck, swallowing hard. “I love you, too.”

She couldn’t help it when the sides of her mouth tipped upward. “I know.”

Harry smiled. “Smug bastard.”

She laughed, leaning her forehead against his, feeling his fingers stroke her scalp tenderly. God, it felt good to have him touch her again. It felt good to be close to him. It felt good to not be ashamed of saying ‘I love you’. It felt amazing to let someone else know how deeply you cared for them and see them light up in response because they felt the same way.

“Now fucking kiss me before I go out of my mind.” Harry said, an undertone to his voice that made a hot tingle run up Y/N’s spine.

“How about you kiss me?”

Harry frowned.

“After all, if I hadn’t kissed you in the ocean that night, would we even be here?”

“You take pride in that, don’t you? I would’ve kissed you eventually.” Harry said, and Y/N raised her eyebrows at him. “I would’ve!”

“Yeah, alright. When? The opportunity presented itself a couple of times, but you only had the nerve to kiss my hand.”

Harry gripped her hair hard in his hand, bringing her lips to hover above his. She gasped, looking down at his lips and then feeling it against her thigh. Very quickly, she felt hot all over, and the need to be closer to Harry grew so fast it made her dizzy.

“Got the nerve to fuck you good now, don’t I?” Harry said, voice so deep she felt it vibrate through her bones.

Y/N bit her lip. “What gentleman talks like that to a lady before he’s even kissed her for the first time in a year?”

“You want a gentleman?”

She ran her hands down his torso. “Depends on the situation.”

Harry kissed her jaw, leaving wet kisses down her neck. “Hmm, does it now?”

“Want a gentleman to walk the little puppy with, to make breakfast with, or to take me out for dates.”

“Do you want a gentleman between your thighs, baby?”

She closed her eyes at the feel of Harry’s lips on her, bit her bottom lip as he pressed her body closer to his. “Depends on how well that gentleman knows how to treat a lady.”

Harry chuckled, the feeling of his laughter against her skin was like heaven. “I’ll be a gentleman, the devil, an angel; I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

She huffed. “Thought we were doing dirty talk, and here you go turning it romantic.”

“I need you to shut up,” Harry said as his lips hovered above hers. “Because I’m about to kiss you and then fuck you on that sofa.”

She grinned, tilting her head to fit perfectly against his. “Kiss me.”

And he did. Hard and passionately. They wasted no time, slipping their tongue into one another’s mouths, clinging to one another, touching all over. They tasted the other, felt them right there. There were some birds singing outside, rustling of some leaves, but the two of them didn’t care. Harry pushed her backward till her legs hit the couch, but she stopped herself from falling back into it. Instead, she turned them around, pushing Harry back onto the ottoman.

“Let me show you how much I love you.” She said, and Harry let out a shaky breath at her words.

He quickly undid the buttons of his silk shirt, threw it somewhere behind him before he leaned on his elbows. “Nothing you’ve ever said has turned me on more.”

She giggled, taking her jeans and knickers off and straddling his lap. He sat up, attaching his lips to hers once again, grabbing onto her bum, begging her to grind against him. They both wanted some friction, and she knew that if he pressed her harder onto him, there would be wet marks from her left on his jeans. But in the moment, neither cared. They just wanted to be as close as humans could be, wanted to feel ecstasy. She buried her hands in his hair, dragging out the tongue filled, wet, lustful kisses. It was excruciating, and the heat between her thighs got more and more intense the more time went on. A wave of excitement and adoration ran through her as she felt Harry’s hand run up her back, reaching for her bra. He wanted to see all of her.

She let him, throwing her shirt off and letting her bra fall to the floor. Harry kissed her the second she was done undressing, moaning her name against her lips. She felt her centre ache, reaching for the zip of Harry’s jeans as quickly as possible. She couldn’t bare it any longer, she needed to be skin to skin; soul to soul. Y/N found that the people she had sex with, she formed an emotional attachment to them in a way that was unexplainable. There might not even be real feelings there, but you’d shared an intimate moment with someone, and it was a moment neither of you would ever forget. But with Harry, it was more than that. It wasn’t just a single moment she shared with him when they were like this; it felt like sharing an entire lifetime. It felt like happiness; it felt like the rest of her life. And she knew she was right to have spent time away from him, because she would tell him this over and over and over again, and she wouldn’t be ashamed or feel weak for admitting how much she loved him.

They got Harry’s jeans and boxers off, and as she took a grip of his cock, Harry stiffened. Their eyes met.

“A condom.” He said, reminding her what they were about to do.

She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

Harry gripped her thigh, squeezing her.

“You pay for the pill.”

He smiled, kissing her for a long time. “Fuck me, please.”

Slowly, she sat down on him, gasping at the familiar feeling of him inside her like this. Harry didn’t take his eyes off her the entire time, mouth opening wider for each centimetre he moved inside her. Positioning her feet on the floor, she started moving her hips over him. He instantly moaned, not able to help himself because it felt so good. He moved his hands up her thighs, her sides, her back, wanting to feel every single little part of her. Wanted her to know how much he appreciated every little thing about her. There wasn’t a single part of her body, of her soul, of her existence he didn’t love. She felt all his emotions in his touches, in the kisses he left along her collarbone, in the soft way he moaned her name.

She tried to push him down onto the ottoman, wanting to have him watch her as she rode him, but Harry stopped her. He shook his head, curls tickling her jawline and cheek.

“No,” he simply said, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m staying right here.”

And though he hadn’t meant it that way, Y/N still took it as him telling her he’d stay with her like this forever. After all, she’d been the one to leave him in the first place, but they were here now. Never was she going to leave him. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, the truest thing in her life, and her best influence. Had she ever been happy before she’d met him? Had she known true happiness till now? Because right now, feeling Harry’s bare skin against hers and hearing him repeat her name, she wasn’t so sure the happiness she’d felt before him could be counted as just that, happiness.

Harry squeezed her hips. “Like that,” he moaned, burying his face in the cook of her neck.

Nothing mattered besides the magic they were creating between them; nothing mattered but Harry and eternity. The soft skin of the inside of Y/N’s thighs against Harry’s hips and sides, pressed to him, sweaty. His tattooed body against her bare one. Heavy breathing, the occasional moan.

The burn in her core was really starting to build up now, and she knew it would burst any second. Harry moved his face so it was right in front of hers, studying her moving form above him. Her sliding hips, her desperate hands, her exclamations of pleasure. The butterflies in her stomach went crazy, all of them flying wildly in a single circle to intensify the oncoming orgasm. Harry’s hips moved more with hers, staring at her as she closed her eyes, digging her nails into his shoulders.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Harry said, hands trembling against her back.

She didn’t know why that almost brought her to tears, but it did, and she bit her bottom lip to stop herself from crying. No one had ever made her feel as stunning as Harry. Though she was confident in her body and on her own, being with Harry made her feel on top of the world. His love, his encouragement, his compliments, it all made her feel so incredibly good about herself in a way nothing ever had before. She had no idea how she could ever thank him for that.

Their hips moved rhythmically, hard against one another, desperate for release. Everything felt electric, everything felt hot. Y/N wanted to melt into him and have the two of them sitting like this forever. Wanted to feel him close, feel his love, feel his skin. Having him inside her like this, feeling him grip her hard, whimpering against her lips, moan her name; she felt powerful, beautiful, strong, and so so so good.

“Harry,” she moaned, looking into his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” He said, bringing her closer. He reached between them, knowing that in order to come properly, she needed him to flick her bud. “Let me watch you come.”

“Oh, God.” She gripped his shoulders harder, moaning loudly as he rubbed her clit like he knew she loved so much.

“Yeah?” He watched her, flicking her faster. “Come for me, baby.”

She came hard. Harry watched her intently, clearly holding back his own release till he knew she was completely done with hers. She grinded on top of him, looking deeply into her eyes as hot flames lashed threw her body, rocking up her entire reality. She gasped for breath and moaned and repeated Harry’s name over and over and over again until it let like it was the only word she knew. Her legs were shaking, and it was hard for her to move properly so he could come to.

“Say it.” Harry said, his neck vein about to show and his face reddening with the oncoming climax. “Tell me.”

She knew exactly what he needed to hear. “I love you.” She whispered against his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the side of his lips as she continued to rock over him. “Everyday, for the rest of my existence, I’ll love you.”

“Fuck.” Harry moaned, not able to look away from her. “Y/N. My love.”

She held his face in her hands. “Never leave me. I love you too much.”

“Never.” Harry said, a moan escaping his lips. “Shit.”

He came, not looking away from her. A furrow appearing between his brows, lips parted, and Y/N had never seen anything so hot and beautiful. He stilled, neck vein showing, and he moaned and moaned and moaned. She watched him till he came down, feeling his cum inside her, feeling his breathing against her, his arms around her.

“You need to go meet Gopher now.” Harry said after a little while.

“My puppy.”

Harry laughed. “We’re gonna have a house filled with fucking animals, aren’t we?”

“And what about it?” Y/N smiled. “Don’t you want to see me happy?”

Harry’s eyes softened, smiling slightly up at her as he took her hand, bringing it up to his lips. He kissed her hand, then her palm, then the pulse of her wrist. “For the rest of my life, celeste.” His smile widened as he felt her beating hearts against his lips. “My baby blue.”

the BIGGEST thank you to all my beta readers! you lot have saved me and helped me more times than i can count! love you!

@aileenacoustic @sunflowervolumeeleven @emotionally-imbruised @fromyourstrulyh @harryisadogperson @harrysthighles @mellowstyles94 @toolazymyguy @clorenafila @dearest-rebecca @tpwkceline @tasteslikestrawberriesharry��

and thank you to you! thank you for reading baby blue! thank you for the love sent both mine and bb’s way! thank you for letting me tell you yet another story, the fact that you sit down each sunday (or whichever day tbh) to read bb and immerse yourself in the bb-verse means so much to me!

as for what i’m gonna do next cos i’ve gotten quite a few questions about that! i won’t be posting writing on tumblr or wattpad till may, but in the meantime i’ll be over at patreon posting! there’ll be a poll there where some of my patrons can vote for what they want me to write next and i’ll post something every week!

my next fic will be announced sometime in april (tho i’ve talked about what it’s gonna be multiple times lmao), and the first few chapters will be available to read on my patreon before it starts posting on my other platforms!

ANYWAY, i love you all so much! thank you again! bb!harry and bb!mc appreciate you very much, as do i :’’)

thank you so much. till next time, stay hydrated.

your bestie, nora x

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