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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, size kink, blood, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: your city has been ruined by goblins and must make a deal with a different sort of beast to save your people.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
Your brothers lead you back to the camp. Frin keeps looking back at you as Ralf struts triumphantly. He slaps his stomach as your people watch the men return.
"I am starving." He bawks. "Thank you sister for supper."
"Brother," Frin girds.
"Eh? She's a woman. What else can she expect?" Ralf sneers.
You keep your head down. You shiver as the frigid wind blows through the worn wool of your dress. Your father approaches.
"What news?" He asks.
Ralf chuckles and Frin digs his toe into the ground evasively. The General calls your father's name in his approach. You try not to draw attention as he approaches.
"You will be rewarded your sacrifice," the General declares.
"Sacrifice?" Your father wonders. "What mean you?"
The General swallows and clears his throat. He looks over at your brothers. They shrug.
"Your daughter. She will... She will feed us all." The General says.
You purse your lips. Can these men not tell it straight? They despise the words of women but they cannot be true.
"Feed us?" Your father looks at you.
"The orcs have promised food, ale, stores for the winter. All they require is her." The General explains. "They want more but they will not have it. Not on the condition."
"Speak clearly. I don't understand what they would need of my daughter." Your father demands.
"Why? What any might have of her. If they can make a mother of their new bride, they may have more in exchange for their crops. Food. Our lives." The General slaps your father's shoulder. "It is a fool's dream. Orc and man."
"My daughter?" You father frowns.
"You've two more," the General remarks. "Would you rather three starved to dust or two fed in good health?"
You father scowls. He looks at you. His eyes are sharp with derision. "You shame me."
"Father, it was not--"
"You speak out of turn. It only brings trouble when women wag their tongues," he shoves you away from him. "Farewell. May the road ahead bring you joy... So much as it can."
"Father..." You try to follow but he doesn't stop. You falter after a few steps.
"Eh, yeah, who wants an orc's whore as their daughter?" Ralf asks.
"Or their sister?" Frin snickers.
They cackle and leave you. You look around. Others or cheerful as they are promised food. You wonder if they know at whose expense.
You head for the tent where your sisters and mother's are in wait. Within, Castina is between them shivering. Medra rubs her shoulders as your mother blows into her hands. You forget the cold for the dread in your chest.
"What of the orcs? Do they attack?" Your mother asks.
You shake your head. Castina stares at you. Medra rocks.
"They will feed us." You say.
"Blessed," your mother touches the medallion around her neck. "I begged the gods. Oh how I begged all night."
You sniff. "But I must go."
"Go? Where?" She asks.
You swallow. Your throat is painfully dry. You aren't even hungry anymore.
"With them. The beasts." You answer.
"Why? For what reason?" Your mother howls.
"The General promised it. So the village can eat." You utter dully, your eyes hovering above them. You cannot look at them. You can't stand to see what you will lose.
"N-n-no. They can't do that." Castina shivers.
"They can do whatever they like. Whatever is takes to save the village." You murmur.
"You're a part of the village!" Castina exclaims only to devolve into a fit of coughs.
"Mother?" Medra whines.
Your mother's face is drawn. Her throat visibly tightens. She stands stiffly.
"I must speak with your father," she says.
"You may. He won't speak with me," you say.
"Sister," Castina tries to stand and falls back against Medra. "Ple-e-ease-"
You hurry forward and grasp her shoulders lightly. You hush her as you get down to your knees.
"Cas, please. This... This will feed you. Food will help you get well." Your voice cracks and your lip quivers. "And I don't have a choice."
"But you should," she says weakly.
You grab the top of your cloak and pull it closer to her neck. "A lot has happened that shouldn't. You are going to keep my cloak and you're going to eat and get warm and get better."
"I'll be alone." She rasps.
"And what am I? Rotten turnip?" Medra snips.
"I need both my sisters," Castina insists.
You try to smile. You can't. Your cheeks twitch and their eyes fill with tears.
"Please don't cry lest I should. I can't... Can't face them as such, can I?" You sniff.
"Aren't you afraid?" Medra asks.
Your throat locks up and you nod. You take their hands and squeeze. They squeeze back.
"Very," you whisper.
🌕
As you emerge, you look around at the villagers. They sit at campfires, gnawing on bones, tearing into the skins of baked potatoes. The air is buzzing with glee. The relief and revelry of the newly-fed starving thrums beneath the open moonlight.
You have no more goodbyes to say. Not any more that you can hear. You sat and made sure your sisters are. That's is enough.
The cold nips at your cheek as you walk between the spits and the bedrolls. The General is with several soldiers, helms and shields set around them. The are deep in casks of ale.
He notices you and belches. He does not attempt to recall his manners. You stare at him.
You rub the bandage across your palm. The tinge of pain beneath lessens that in your heart. The General whistles and signals.
"Plemond. Take her." The General bids.
You watch the General. He gulps more ale. It dribbles down his chin.
"That it? No well wishes?"
"Eh, good fortune to you, lady. So good as it can be," he chortles. "Pray the gods you keep on one piece."
You look at him. His eyes meet yours. His grin fades. He doesn't apologise. He doesn't have that sort of courage.
You turn and follow the plump Plemond. The one you heard them teasing days ago, saying how he could feed at least a dozen. You wonder if this fate is truly worse than staying with such callous folk.
Another night gale sweeps around you. Your bones ache with it. You mourn your cloak but Castina needs it more.
You pass beneath the shadows of the mountains as the torchlight flickers further and further behind. Plemond keeps a hand on his pommel. He slows.
"Lady, I'm not certain--"
"We told the steel faced one we wished to depart before the dusk." A voice rumbles from the dark. "For a moment," the towering creature drawls, "we doubted the word of man, as often we've been warned to do."
Plemond backs up, nearly colliding with you. "Sh-she's here."
"We do see." The darker haired orc steps into the moonlight. "More than you know."
His eyes find you and he extends his large hand. "Come. It is too late to go now. We require rest for an early trek."
You hesitate and look at Plemond but he is already running back to the camp. You twist back to face fate. It is more terrifying in the flesh than in your mind.
You reach out, shaking, and take two of his thick fingers. You can't still the tremour. It is much more than the cold.
He turns and leads you into the shadows. The dark grows dense and he tugs you.
"Stay close. I see what your eyes do not," he girds.
You can't speak so you just obey.
"You recall my name, dearling?" He asks.
You sniff. Your nose hurts from the chill. "B... Bull...forgive me, I forget."
"Bucky," he provide. "We will know each other better in time."
You realise you're in a cave only as orange flickers ahead of you. The blaze pulses against the stone wall as Bucky leads you around a corner. A fire burns as the other orc sits before it. He glances over as he sets aside a shield.
"Here," Bucky declares then herds you forward. "And Steve, the other."
"Bucky. Steve." You eke out.
Steve looks at you. His face is sober, shadows trapped in the creases as the fire lights his features. His lower jaw is square and wide.
"She is cold," Steve says plainly.
"A fur," Bucky gestures as you let go of his hand. You hug yourself as the other orc rises and goes to his pack.
"I... Sirs, I will be warm closer to the fire." You suggest.
"You have no cloak. You will not last upon the road if you have only a tattered dress." Bucky chides.
You looks down. "It is... Yes. It is old. It can be patched."
Steve unfurls a black fur and brings it to you. Bucky helps him fan it around you and they lay it snug around your shoulders. You thank them meekly.
"Come then. Warm yourself." Steve says.
Bucky urges you to the flame. You hold out your palms as your teeth chatter. The fur is thick and heavy. You grab the edges and feel how soft it is.
"What about you?" You ask.
Steve snorts and Bucky laughs. "You worry for us already? As any wife should."
"We don't worry for the cold." Steve intones as he sits again. "Not for ourselves."
You look at the flames until your eyes hurt. Wife...
"A ceremony is needed. That is where we go next. A temple to the northwest." Steve explains.
"Ceremony..." You echo.
"Yes, even orcs take vows."
"Very seriously so," Steve affirms and examines his thumbnail. "Almost as serious as sleep, eh? We should rest for the road."
"Soon," Bucky says as he sits. "Let us settle in. Be used to each other for a while."
You stay as you are. You fear if you move, it my stir them. You just want to stay by the fire and safe.
A low growl rolls through the cave. Your insides ripple. Steve raises his head as his eyes dart around. Bucky looks at you.
"It is only her," Bucky states. "Hungry."
"We fed them..." Steve says.
"We can spare more." Bucky drags his pack closer. "Come, dearling, I hid some currant bread from this rodent."
"Rodent?" Steve huffs. "I am the rat and you steal sweet bread."
"I am no thief. I merely did not share the secret," Bucky unwraps the cloth from around the full loaf. "Come, come."
He directs you closer with his fingers. You near and your mouth waters as you can smell the sweet spices of the bread. He tears off a morsel and offers it.
You snatch it without thinking. Your stomach roars again and you bite into the pillowy bread. You moan at the taste of it. Before you know it, your handful is all gone.
You look at your fingers then above them. Bucky watches and offers more. You cover your mouth, brushing away crumbs.
"No, no," you say. "I could not."
"You are starving. Have it all if you will." He pushes the loaf closer. Your stomach mulches.
"Just..." Your mouth fills with saliva. "Just a little more," you relent. "Thank you, sir."
"Please, I've told you my name. You will use it." He commands.
"Yes, Bucky," you murmur.
"Good," he gives you more bread. "Sit and eat."
You do as he says. You sit on your knees and nibble the bread, this time measuring each bite. It's so tasty. Much better than that slug you ate that morning.
"Then sleep," Steve stands and unfurls his bedroll. "Both of you. We will not delay on the morrow."
The file guy is back. Do you remember this t-shirt?
I took my time to make high quality logos in vector that are ready to print.
Of course because these are literally icons taken from the game I won't charge a dollar for them. All rights go to Arenanet (and if they decide to put some good old Personal Story merch in the merch store I will be overjoyed. PLEASE THERE IS SO MUCH MERCH POTENTIAL SITTING RIGHT THERE).
Either way, here are the files. Feel free to print them on clothing for yourself, just don't sell them anywhere. Neither I nor you want any legal trouble... Probably.
(btw, because white logo of the Vigil was invisible on .pdf, it has a black version there. PNG is white, PDF is black. The same goes for Inquest logo)
summary: Y/N and Harry have always had a complicated relationship. They're friends, then they're not. They like each other, then they despise each other. But something deep inside can't let them stray too far apart, even as everything changes around them. Through the trials and tests of life, the heartbreaks and joys, can Harry and Y/N find their own way? Or will they stick to the drunken marriage pact they made in a time of desperation?
word count: 6k
warnings: n/a
a/n: awe they’re so happy yayayay! how can i ruin that…
.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.
4 | GRADUATION
Is it completely wrong to say that you’re going to miss high school? You’ve been the biggest advocate against school in general since you were enrolled in Pre-K, but still. These past four years have been different. Like all of your fondest memories will be from this time in your life. While you hope you’re never yearning to come back, and that your life will only go up from here, at least you won’t be looking back with regret. You’ve made the best of friends and so many great memories.
Even if today has been stressful as hell, you think it’s worth it. For all the good that has happened, this one hectic day isn’t too bad. Plus, it’s signifying the end of it all. An era of your life, gone in a flash. You really should’ve listened to your parents when they said high school goes by fast. Guess it was just hard to believe when you were in the thick of it. Everything changes after today, but it was fun while it lasted.
“Y/N, if you don’t get down here in the next five minutes, you’re going to be late to your own graduation!” your mom calls from downstairs, rushing you. Even though you’re already ready.
The nerves are keeping you from moving. Nerves about the future, but also the crushing anxiety of walking across that stage today. That’s scary too.
“Coming!” you yell back, staring back at yourself in the mirror and straightening out your white dress.
The students have to get to the school an hour before the ceremony to run through it all, leaving you to fester in the anxiety. Teetering on the edge of summer.
As you make your way downstairs, you try your hardest not to trip in your heels. Unlike Prom, you’re wearing wedges today, because you and your feet learned their lesson. So many blisters. Your parents are waiting in the living room as you descend from the stairs. They seem to be more excited than you are. They’ve been busying themselves by setting up the after party they’re throwing here. It’s just your friends and their families, but you’re looking forward to it.
You’re more looking forward to the after after party, though.
Your parents don’t get the chance to gush about “how grown up you look” or “where their little girl went” because a knock lands on the front door. Either someone misread the party invitation or it’s the person you’re expecting. Your father opens the door, knowing you have an irrational fear of doing it. What if it’s a kidnapper just waiting to strike? You’re pleasantly surprised when the door opens and it’s not a kidnapper. But it is the person who’ll be taking you away.
“Y/N,” your father starts, not even looking back at you, “Harry’s here.”
You can only imagine the death glare your father is giving Harry right now. From the frightened look on his face, it’s a bad one. You find it very humorous, unlike Harry. Your dad actually likes him, but he’ll do anything to seem intimidating. Harry doesn’t buy that.
“Yes, I can see that,” you reply, a smile growing on your face when Harry’s eyes lock with yours. “Thank you, Dad.”
“Oh! Harry! Come in, come in! Let me get a picture of the graduates together!” Your mom is already racing around the room in search of her phone. She’s always losing it.
Your father barely gives Harry enough room to squeeze inside, and you have to bite back your laughter.
“Mom, you can get pictures after the ceremony. We really need to get going,” you groan, finally meeting Harry down by the door. Luckily, your father has left to assist in the phone hunt.
“Just one picture and then you can go!” She gasps in glee when she finds her cellphone, stashed between the couch cushions. “Okay, stand together you two!”
Harry’s always been very nervous around your family, but you think it’s endearing. But that also means he keeps a good distance between you for the picture. One arm loosely tossed around your waist, and space for God in between. You try to side-step closer, but he shuffles away.
“Son, why are you standing so far away? You’re acting like you’re disgusted by Y/N. Is that it? Does my daughter disgust you?” your father grumbles, and you can tell he finds humor in it, but he’s going too far.
“N-no— No, sir, I-“
“Dad, cool it. You’re being mean,” you stand up for Harry, and that shuts your father up. He knows that once you’re not down for one of his jokes that it’s not funny.
“Your mother wants a picture of the happy couple, so… look happy,” he mutters, a bit peeved that his plans to be scary today aren’t working. It’s just not the day for it. Polish a rifle during dinner? Sure. Stress you out any more than you already are today? Absolutely not.
Harry’s still quite stiff despite your fathers green light, so you take matters into your own hands. Curling into his side, allowing one of your hands to land in the center of his chest while the other squeezes his waist. He happily holds you back tighter, but keeps his hands a respectable distance from any no-no zones. When the flash of your mothers camera goes off, he immediately drops his hand. You don’t have the same amount of self control, keeping your arm draped around him.
“Okay! Go! Well see you both after the ceremony!”
Now that’s a cue that Harry can follow, grabbing onto your hand and practically dragging you out the door. You yell out a quick goodbye to your parents right before the door slams. As soon as you hear it click, Harry’s shoulders slump in relief. Since you’re finally out of sight of your parents, you wrap your arms around his shoulders in a loose hug. He wastes no time in interlocking his hands behind your waist, holding you tight.
It’s been like this since Prom. Very comfortable and easy. Like starting off as friends made the transition better. It’s still the same you. You still bicker, tease one another and rant on the drive home from school. The only thing different is now you, like, kiss and stuff. But even that came naturally. As if you had been, or should’ve been, doing it the whole time. If a teasing joke goes too far, instead of slapping him upside the head, he’ll kiss you to make up for it.
Breaking the news to your friends wasn’t even that big of a deal. Mainly because it seemed everyone knew about Harry’s undying crush on you already. You even went as far as to plan a whole thing to surprise them with, but it fell through. When he accidentally kissed you goodbye when lunch period ended, the cat got out of the bag by itself. No one really had anything to say, just that they were happy you both woke up. It’s all just been so…easy. Maybe too easy…? No! No! You will not self-sabotage this!
“Your dad actually hates me,” Harry sighs, bringing you back to the present, an over exaggerated pout on his lips. You can’t help yourself from rising to your toes to kiss them. That makes the frown disappear quickly.
“He doesn’t hate you. He’s just trying to scare you.” Your thumbs draw random shapes into the patch of skin under his ears as you speak.
“Well, it’s working. Consider me frightened,” he jokes, pulling you flush against his chest so he can rest his chin on the crown of your head.
“I’ll make sure he lays off of you,” you mutter against his dress shirt. Before pulling away, he kisses your hair, sending butterflies to your stomach. “C’mon, we’ve gotta go. Don’t want to be late for our own graduation.”
He groans, reluctantly releasing his grip on you. But the absence of his touch doesn’t last for long since he’s reaching out to grab your hand, even though the car is just a few feet away.
“Can’t believe we’re graduating already,” he speaks his mind as you stroll toward the curb. When you reach the car, he opens the passenger door for you, assisting you inside. “Your birthday is coming up… I’m excited.” He smiles at you as you buckle in. “First one with you being my girl.”
And the unrelenting butterflies are back. In fact, they never seem to ever fully leave when you’re around him. But when he calls you that, they go crazy.
“First one knowing me at all,” you comment.
“That makes it all the more important.”
You laugh lightly, rolling your eyes. “Get in the car, idiot.”
.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.
Graduation is burning with a capital B. If you’d known you’d have to sit through at least one billion one hour long speeches from faculty and classmates you’d never met, you probably wouldn’t have come. All the speeches are the same, as if they all sat in a room and compared notes. You’re not sure how much longer you can listen to a geriatric person or overachieving student tell you that they’re “so proud.”
The only silver lining of this whole day is knowing what comes after. And who you’re sitting next to. If you had to be stuck out in the sun for three hours, in a dark blue grad gown and a stupid matching cap that keeps falling off with anyone else, you fear you would’ve rushed the stage in protest already.
Harry’s making this situation a bit more bearable.
His idea of trying to make this whole thing go by faster is to play eye-spy. Yes, that game you played as a child with your family on a road trip. You and Harry have gone through the entire list of colors, and somehow he’s still going.
“I spy with my little eye something…black.”
“Both of your eyes in about five seconds if you keep making us play this stupid game,” you grumble, allowing your head to fall onto his shoulder.
“Wow, threatening violence now?” he teases, shimmying his shoulder so your head bounces around. “In front of all of these witnesses?”
“They’d agree with my actions.” You’re half-asleep at this point.
“We’d now like to invite our graduates to walk this stage and into their futures,” our principal’s voice echoes across the field as the front rows of students line up.
You and Harry still have a ways away being all the way in the back, but you can tell he’s nervous. At least he’ll be too preoccupied to play eye-spy anymore.
All week he’s been conjuring up any horrible thing that could possibly happen as he walks across the stage. From face-planting or forgetting to shake the principal’s hand, to his head literally exploding—Final Destination style. You never would’ve guessed he’d be so nervous about something as quick and painless as this. You guess strip-teasing the whole school is less nerve wracking than walking at graduation. Consider his rockstar dreams dead.
Soon enough, a member of the faculty is ushering you both out of your seats and toward the stage. You can’t even lie and say that your own nerves aren’t starting to get the best of you. It’s intimidating and scary, but you aren’t sure if it’s the act in itself, or what it signifies. A final moment. Your final moment here as students.
Shit, now you want to cry.
You only drop Harry’s hand once he’s at the front of the line, even if you don’t really want to. Why can’t you just be called together? Just as his name is called, he flips back toward you with a tight-lipped smile. You try to reciprocate, but yours is a bit more misty-eyed.
You scream. You scream loudly. The microphone probably picked it up. Eyes only growing waterier as you watch him shake the principal's hand and get a quick picture taken with his diploma. You nearly forget to hand your own name card in.
And you black out as soon as the syllables ring out over the field.
Walk. Shake the principal’s hand. Grab your diploma. Forget to smile for the picture. Stumble off the stage.
The only thing to pull you from your trance is an eardrum-shattering wolf whistle. There’s only one person you know that can make that sound. Strolling—a little too slowly—back to your seats, Harry walks backward with a gleaming smile on his face. It forces your feet to rush forward, racing for him. Magnetizing yourself to his side, you make your way back to your seats.
The rest of the ceremony, while going by quickly, is just as boring. One last speech and a whole lot of “thank you’s”. The nerves of the day are gone. Materializing instead into a buzzing excitement. Lord knows what’s next for you, for you and Harry, and all of your friends. But it’s exhilarating. High school is over and your lives are just beginning.
Guess the principal was right. You walked across that stage straight into your future.
That thought races through your head as you’re all instructed to move the tassel from one side to the other, signifying the end and the beginning. You can feel the excitement in the air when you’re given the green light to toss your caps up into the air. Everyone screams in delight, even the crowd.
The fear of getting your eye poked out with the corner of a cap keeps your head hung, but you wouldn’t have had the chance to watch even if you wanted to. Not when Harry engulfs you into his arms and lifts you off the ground, twirling you around like you’re the only two people on this grass. Your arms and legs wrap around him like he’s a tree you’re desperate to climb, holding on for dear life. He holds you securely to his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his easy laughter as caps fall from the sky like confetti.
When he lowers you back down onto the ground, you don’t dare to fully unlatch. You’re not even sure if you could. Keeping your arms wrapped tight around his torso as you walk through the field in search of your friends and family.
Your friends meet you both by the exit of the field, hugging and nearly in tears. Wayde was definitely crying. It’s not the end—hardly—but it just feels like it is. There’s still summer and years and years after that, but this chapter is closing.
You all venture out into the mess of the parking lot to find your parents, going your separate ways. That is until they all show up at your house in an hour. You still don’t let go of Harry. Not even when you get stuck in the thick of the crowd, searching for Harry’s mom. You’re lucky she finds your clingy nature endearing, pulling both of you into a big hug when you find her.
Harry’s mom is quite possibly one of your favorite people you’ve ever met. She doesn’t try to be intimidating like your dad, which is a major relief. When he brought you to his house, the first time since becoming official, she welcomed you with open arms and five baby-Harry scrapbooks. You’re not even sure if you saw Harry that night.
“There’s our little graduate!” you can hear your fathers booming voice from across the lot.
For Harry’s sake, you unravel yourself from him but latch onto his hand instead. Your mothers immediately begin gabbing together about nothing and everything while your dad saunters toward you. There’s an eerily cheesy smile on his face. You know it’s genuine, but Harry’s hand tenses in yours.
“Go on, say goodbye to your little boyfriend, you’ll see him soon,” your father teases, a childish glint in his eyes.
“If I throw a tantrum can he just come back with us?” you fake-beg, pouting and everything.
“N-no, that’s not—“ Harry immediately goes to stop you from an outburst. “I can just go—“
“I’m joking.” You laugh, knocking your hip into his. “Father Dearest, would you mind waiting in the car so I can say goodbye to my “little boyfriend” without you staring daggers at us?”
Your father visibly shudders—another joke. And another time Harry doesn’t take it as one. He starts, “It’s fine, I’ll just—“
“As much as it pains me to say this… Son, just kiss my daughter goodbye.” Your dad rolls his eyes, regretting his decision to make Harry scared of him.
“Father!” you gasp dramatically. “Do you think we actually partake in such activities?! What do you take me as?! Some kind of—“
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be in the car.” He waves you off as he saunters toward the car, stealing your mother away with him.
Anne gets the hint and minds her own a few feet away, acting as if she’s not eager to have her accomplished son to herself for a moment. Well, as much as you love Anne, it’s your turn right now.
You throw your arms around Harry’s shoulders the second your peeping-Tom’s are out of the picture. His hands snake behind your back, underneath the navy gown. You rise on your toes as he leans down, but neither of you make the final move. Final kiss in the school parking lot, you think. As if it’s monumental. Wait… Is it monumental?
“Would you rather have your name tattooed on your forehead or have no front teeth?” And the moments ruined.
“Really, Harry?” You lower down onto the soles of your feet as he laughs to himself, dimples out and everything.
“I’d rather have no front teeth,” he answers his own question, not bothered at all about ruining what was maybe supposed to be a monumental moment. “Would you still like me if I didn’t have front teeth?”
“No,” you tease, but there’s a hint of honesty in there. That makes Harry pull back a tad, picking up on it. “What? Your two front teeth are arguably my favorite teeth of yours.”
“You have favorite teeth?” he asks, confused but also slightly amused.
“Do you not?” you mock offense, going along with this conversation for some reason. Maybe this is what was supposed to be monumental, this conversation. And that’s why you’re both savoring it for as long as you can.
“Sorry, babe, but I can’t say that I do.” Your stomach does a weird twisty thing at the new nickname. You’ve never been big on pet names. Well, not until now.
You force yourself not to bring attention to it, not wanting to scare him into never doing it again. “Wow,” you sigh, feigning disappointment, “just wait til my father hears of this. All the money he paid for braces and you don’t even—“
“Please, he doesn’t need another reason to despise me.” He pinches your back and tugs you closer, a horrible act of being mad.
“He doesn’t despise you.” You lift back onto your toes, coming face to face with him. And when he smiles, you come face to face with your favorite teeth. You can’t help but mutter a soft, “There they are…” when you see them. It only makes him smile harder, and you can’t resist. You don’t even care if you’ll be kissing teeth.
But, once again, the moment is stolen from you. The sound of a loud car horn blaring is what breaks you from what you seriously believe is a monumental moment. The universe must have it out for you. Or, you know, your father.
“We should probably—“ Harry starts, attempting to end this consequential, monumental moment before it ever even began. But he doesn’t get to finish.
Not before your lips are attached to his. Just a casual, light peck since you know you have an audience. Still, Harry instinctively pulls you closer, not wanting the delicate touch to end. Neither do you, but you know it has to. Harry would love to regret it if it didn’t end soon. But that doesn’t mean you don’t take the chance to peck his lips two more times before lowering back down.
Harry’s arms slowly unravel from you as you back away to your awaiting chariot. Your eyes never waver.
“I’ll see you at your house!” he calls out when you’re far enough away.
“See you soon!” you yell back, an emotional feeling creeping up on you. “I lov—“ Fate seems to step in and stops you from letting your emotions blurt something you aren’t sure you’re ready for. Fate, also known as your dad on the car horn again.
You’re literally five feet from the car.
.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.
Even though it’s only been, literally, an hour since you all parted ways at graduation, you’re still rushing to the door every time one of your friends arrives. As if you hadn’t seen them in years. As if each of them are your husband returning from war.
You’re just excited.
Not for this…poor excuse of a party your parents have set up. But instead, for what’s to come when you all make your sneaky exit halfway through the night. You’re hoping that in an hour all the moms will be too engrossed in baby albums and wine to notice, and the dad’s will be inspecting the grill. While the embarrassment of everyone seeing pictures of you as a chunky baby makes you want to stand guard of the photo album shelf, you’ll let it slide so you can have some actual fun on your graduation night.
Frankie and her parents were the first to arrive, and she looked a bit shell shocked if you’re honest. Something about the amount of ‘Congratulations’ calls she had to endure before she came over. Quinn was next to show up, still dressed in her cap and gown—per her parents request. Wayde and Ronan were next, and their parents were already engrossed in a conversation about how they “both pulled up at the same exact time”. Of course that conversation had to be carried onto your parents as well. Ryan showed up only a few minutes later. He didn’t even bother trying to integrate his parents into the mix, just left them to fend for themselves. All this running up and down your stairs has started to take a toll on you.
When Leah showed up, all of you went down to greet her. Well, her and her brother who insisted on driving his family over—per your group's request. Her parents made their way inside while you all “checked out his new wheels.”
“Did you get it?” Wayde’s the only one confident enough to ask.
Leah’s brother, James, lifts the twelve pack and a bottle of dark liquor. Taunting. “I swear, if any of you little shits gets drunk off your ass and runs home to cry to your Mommies, I’ll ground you myself.”
“James,” Leah whines, annoyed by her brother. The rest of you are a little scared.
“Just don’t be fucking stupid, okay?” He stares down your little group. Your response and agreement are hesitant nods and murmurs of ‘okay’.
Just as he’s passing the goods over to Wayde and Ronan, you spot Harry’s family car pulling up to your house. All hell breaks loose when you warn them. James hurries to hand it over while Wayde and Ronan try to come up with a way to conceal it.
“Just take it to my room!” you whisper-shout at them, the same time James speeds off down the street. So much help.
Ronan follows in Wayde’s lead of shoving the alcohol under their shirts—totally discreet—and waddling like pregnant women back into your house. The rest of them scatter, leaving you alone to greet Harry and his mom. Having to act like you didn’t just partake in an illegal trade off just seconds before.
When the car rolls to a stop, it takes all of about five seconds for Harry to jump out. He scoops you into his arms and you let out a squeal of surprise. Sure, he’s more comfortable being affectionate in front of his mom, but this is still a bit out of character. No matter how much you were missing him in the hour you were apart, this is a little excessive.
He mumbles quietly next to your ear, “My mom saw everything. I told her it was sodas and a gift for your dad. Act cool.”
“What? Ha— Hi, Anne!” you pull away from Harry as quickly as you can. The pitch of your voice and your posture is already incriminating.
“Hi…” Her eyes flick between you and her son, sensing the tension.
“You know, I think my mom was just about to crack open the scrapbook of my birth. Maybe we should—“
“Oh! I’d love to see that!”
Perfect way to get a mom off your back is to entice with baby pictures. Works every time. The older the pictures the better. Specifically the age range where your parents can point at the picture and ask “What happened?”
You lead the way back into your house and Anne is immediately sucked into the circle of Moms. It gives you ample time to disappear upstairs with Harry, up to your room. It’s silent in between the four walls, everyone holding their breath just in case the cops have been called to ransack your pathetic stash.
“They’re all distracted,” you breathe the words and watch everyone’s shoulders sag in relief. “We have about an hour until the Mom’s are tipsy and the Dad’s are trying random food on the grill, so…”
“Should we…make our rounds?” Frankie asks, but you can tell she’s already over talking about graduation.
“Yeah, we should…” Leah agrees, but no one makes the first move to go downstairs.
“Or we could just…hide up here until they forget they’re even parents?” Harry suggests, taking a seat on the edge of your bed.
“Yeah, yeah. I like that idea better.” You all agree in unison.
.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.
You don’t know how you ended up here. It feels like it’s been hours since all your friends showed up to your house. Hours since you all snuck downstairs, shushing each other’s heavy footsteps and the rattling of the alcohol hidden in a duffle bag.
Somehow you all made it out unscathed. Completely under the radar. Or at least you’re hoping you did. You haven’t heard any sirens or search parties commencing from all of your absences.
As soon as you’d all stumbled your way out of the house, you started your trek. Living by the lake has its perks, perfect for nights like this. Camped out on the “beachy” area with the still waters a few feet away. And as if fate knew you all needed something special to commence the celebration, you stumbled across a pile of firewood. Likely left here by past visitors, but it’s yours to use now. You were all thanking the heavens when Harry pulled a lighter out of his pocket. And you set a reminder in your head to ask him about it later.
Everyone’s lounging around. It’s peaceful. Serene. The perfect way to end such a stressful day. Stressful week. Hell, who are you kidding? Stressful four years!
Quinn and Ronan sit beside one another against the bank, dipping their toes into the icy water and sharing a secret conversation. Ryan is showing Frankie the perfect way to roast a marshmallow, which for him is just burnt. And Wayde is getting chased around by Leah who threatens to push him into the campfire. They’ve had a bit too many shots of that brown liquid from the glass bottle. Everyone else has just been nursing their canned beers, not overdoing it. Especially Harry, who’s still on his first.
You’ve gotten a bit more carried away. While you weren’t taking shots on shots with Leah and Wayde, you did dabble with one. But that was a mistake. Nearly coughing up a lung and debating drinking lake water to soothe the burn. After that, you decided to stick to the beers. Even if they taste like piss. You’re on your third.
You can feel the heat in your cheeks, and it’s not just from the fire a few feet away. Your eyes move slower and your body feels heavier. It’s good you have something to lean on.
Sitting sideways, you’ve taken residence on Harry’s lap. He uses one hand planted on the dirt behind him to hold himself up, but his other is planted firmly around your hips. His touch makes you feel warmer than the fire and the alcohol combined. Sometimes his thumb will brush up underneath the hem of your shirt and you shiver every time, despite the heat.
Hardly any words are exchanged, but there doesn’t need to be. It’s comfortable. Watching your friends at peace—or at war. This right here is the monumental moment you’ve been searching for all day.
You find your head falling onto Harry’s shoulder, curling further into his side. His adjustment is to hold you tighter, impossibly closer. You’ve never felt more at peace than you do at this moment. It’s almost overwhelming. That feeling alone has you craning your neck back to stare up at the boy who you’re certain is the reason for the calm. He senses your eyes on him and peers down at you, a lopsided smirk growing on his face.
The flames cast dancing, orange shadows across his face. Doing the impossible task of somehow making him even more beautiful. You nearly blurt that thought, but you don’t want to disrupt the silence. But he stares down at you as if he’s read your mind. Like he can tell you’re admiring him. It makes his smirk deepen.
And then he’s leaning in. He’s leaning in and his lips are pressing gently against yours. No matter how many times it happens, you don’t think you’ll ever tire of the butterflies. You can feel his smile against your lips, warming your heart to the same temperature as the fire in front of you. The rest of your body catches up with the temperature change when his head tilts and the kiss deepens.
No longer is it an innocent press of two lips, but instead, a more intense entanglement. Pulling your bottom lip between his own, you gasp at the sensation. It might just be the alcohol in your system, but this kiss feels different. Deeper. More meaningful.
Monumental.
It has you sitting up straighter, lifting your head from his shoulder to further deepen the kiss. His hand moves from your hip to the back of your head, cradling it gently as his lips grow feverish. The feeling of his tongue tracing the seam of your lips has you gasping again, allowing him entrance.
You and Harry have kissed before, obviously. You’ve even made out a handful of times. But that’s where it’s ended. Some passionate and desperate kisses, a little under the shirt action, and then you stop. You know he wants more, but…you’re scared. Not of him, not of being vulnerable with him, but of the action in itself. The description Leah gave you when she lost hers a few weeks ago was enough to make you consider becoming a nun. You want that closeness with Harry—of course you do. You just aren’t sure if you’re ready for that…
He doesn’t pressure you, though. Not in the slightest. The perfect gentleman. When you pull away, always with a nervous smile bred in fear of disappointing him, he smiles back. Genuinely. And then you just go back to whatever you were doing before.
But tonight? Tonight the alcohol is affecting your judgment. His lips feel too good. His hand tangling in your hair feels too right. And the small, almost unnoticeable sounds he pours into your mouth taste too delicious. Instinctively, your hands land on his shoulders, lifting yourself to adjust your position.
“Babe…” he mumbles into your mouth. A plea? You can’t be sure. You take it as him telling you to keep going. It spurs you on. A knee on either side of his hips, you work on settling yourself back down onto his lap. Both of his hands fly to your hips, an unrelenting grip. “Babe.” There’s that name again, more insistent this time. Your brain is too fogged to focus on what he’s trying to say.
“Hey! Freaks! Get a room!” It’s Wayde’s voice to break you out of that trance. That and the pebble he throws at the back of your head.
Only then do you realize the compromising position you’ve put yourself in. You’re straddling Harry in front of all of your friends. Now the blush in your cheeks has nothing to do with the alcohol.
Harry notices your mortification quickly, drawing shapes on your hips with his thumbs. He stretches up to place a soft peck against your lips, smiling lightly at the clear embarrassment on your face. “Not tonight, babe.”
His words force you to replay what just happened. His incessant murmurs of the pet name stand out. You realize, instead of it being him pleading for more and for you to keep going, he was trying to get you to calm down. You can hear it now, as you replay it in your mind. Not angry or upset, but concerned if anything. He knows you aren’t ready. He knows this is literally the last place, the last situation you’d want that to happen. He was looking out for you in your inebriated state. And those three words you nearly spilled earlier today seem more prevalent than ever.
After your morbid embarrassment has calmed down, you resume your old position of having your legs strewn over his and being cuddled into his side. No one brings it up again, and you’re grateful.
“My mom’s making me get a summer job,” Harry says suddenly, effectively changing the subject. Again, grateful.
“Really? Why?” you mumble, resting your head on his shoulder again.
“Gotta pay for stuff while I’m away at college somehow. Plus, I’m saving for a car.” His thumb resumes its mindless masterpieces on your hip.
“You’re saving for a car?” Your heart stutters a bit at the thought. “Does that mean you won’t need my free rides anymore?”
“No,” he replies quickly, “just means I’ll get to drive my girl around in my new wheels.”
“I better be the girl in the scenario.” Your comment is stupid, but your eyelids are heavy now and the crackle of the fire is like a lullaby.
“You’re so drunk.” You feel his chest rumble beneath you as he laughs.
“Am not,” you whine.
“Are too.” He pinches your hip, you muffle your squeak. “Anyway, I’m thinking of working at that bakery in Old Town.”
“Why there?”
“Good pay, easy work. I’d probably just be scrubbing burnt cake off of pans all day.”
“Does this mean we won’t get to hang out as much?” Your voice is whiny, pathetic. You’re not sure when you became this dependent on his presence.
“It’ll only be a few hours every week,” he reassures you, but something about it still doesn’t feel right in your gut. Outwardly, you accept it.
“Hey, anyone got the time?” Ryan turns around from his seat by the water. It forces you to pay attention to the way the moonlight bounces off the surface. How long have you all been out here?
You haphazardly reach for your phone somewhere behind you, being anchored down by Harry’s grip on you. The screen illuminates your face, making you squint and forcing your eyes to take a second to adjust.
12:23 AM
Oh, shit. When did it get so late? You were only supposed to be out here for an hour or two. Not five! God, your parents must be worried sick wondering where you are. And all of their parents too! You can’t believe your phones haven’t been blowing up with pleading messages or amber alerts.
But as your eyes scan the screen further, you realize why.
Mom
The key is under the mat for when you make your way home. Be safe and don’t overdo it, you don’t want to be sick tomorrow! Your friends can crash in the living room. See you in the morning.
Honestly, I thought their whole gang chemistry was cute as hell (plus I have a thing for heros going bad because they care about their villain boo), and they kind of had a moral code, for each other at least. Bane cared about loyalty and truthfulness, Freeze cared about curing his wife, Bruce wants the least amount of casualties possible, John cares about Bruce and Harley, and Harley is a bit of a wild card, but she had a soft spot for John and even a bit for Bruce. They worked well together, and I can totally see an alternate route of Bruce betraying Waller and legitimately joining The Pact because he cares about them and maybe with him on board, he can keep them from harming people too much. He'd have to learn to accept that some people have to die, but I REALLY want to see someone write a fic about this, if they haven't already! (If they have, pleeeaaase link it in the comments!)
I just love it when villains team up and legitimately care about each other, even better with the hero joins them and has to turn a little dark because of it. We love corruption because of love and friendship! Oh, and of course this would be a Bruce/John fic, I love them so much! Harley can go bring Pamela (Ivy) into The Pact and she can be with her instead, but they're all besties and are there for each other! Yes, Bruce still wants to help people, but his new friends (and green haired lover) matter to him more. (Sadly, I can't see Alfred or Tiffany staying with Bruce for this, but maybe Bruce can at least talk Tiffany into joining since she was so ready to make Batman guns? Alfred won't stand for it though, so he'd probably leave him, turning a blind eye as a last stroke of goodwill towards his son figure.) Anyhow, someone, anyone, please, please, PLEASE write this fic or send me fics that have this in it, thanks!
