red riding hood | void stiles [au]

seventeen ; past

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: INTO THE WRECKAGE

NEITHER OF THEM WERE sorry when their desperate kisses of need and passion led to both of them being tangled up on a bed, the same one they slept soundlessly in the night before as they were unaware of the emotional strain they would encounter the next day. Dried tear stains marked their faces while they focused solely on each other and how much love they had for the one another, wanting to make the most of their limited time. They both knew nothing was going to change the truth.

Since, it rose up mercilessly with the knowledge that it was going to cause something so fragile to shatter, but as the two were left in the wreckage, the need to be close one more time clouded their minds. It was just one of those necessary things that had to be shared between them, even though hearts were broken and tears had been spilt, it was a way for them to really say goodbye. And the once unstoppable duo didn't find anything wrong with that.

She was on top of him, the palms of her hands pressed against his cheeks to hold him close to her, slightly afraid she was dreaming and he was going to disappear suddenly. Void wasn't the one vanishing though out of the two of them, because this was fleeting, everything happening was fleeting, but they refused to let go without expressing how much they cared for each other. And they ached for one another, absolutely entranced from the bliss of being together, and it seemed as if there was no other option. She was leaving—just not yet, not now, not before she properly acknowledged the connection they shared.

Their lips continuously met and dragged against the other's own pair, letting the warmth they got from it fill them, intoxicated by the whole, simple process of it all. Of course his fingers had sneaked underneath her red, long-sleeved shirt, tickling his way up and down her back and feeling the goosebumps rise because of it. The skin-on-skin contact was lovely to her, making her more breathless than she already was, a shiver running down her spine even. Their affect on the other was still something extraordinary.

Time had caught up with them, but they still had managed to freeze it, to prolong this euphoric event. Every second counted, was cherished, and they basked in every detail of the current situation. From the unhurried movement of her hips shifting back and forth against his to the way their heartbeats subtly quickened—it all wasn't taken for granted like it has been before. Soon it would be over; they would be over, and that was a tragedy within itself.

Her top was slowly peeled from her torso, making her move away and break the kiss in order for the piece of apparel to slide over her arms and head. He watched her toss the clothing onto the floor, mind in a haze as he eyed the beautiful girl on top of him, a white, lace bra clinging to her chest. The creature known to cause mayhem at its finest felt utterly defenseless, searching for the answer as to why he was even lucky enough to come across her in the first place, because God had he been so wrong. He hurt her more than anyone else, and he was finally seeing it, seeing how it didn't matter if she was good or evil or different from him or the same. It all led up to the same conclusion. It all led up to him loving her and whoever she choose to be. He never should have played with her identity.