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summary: in which; nearing your wedding day, you find yourself wanting an out—one which only the best friend and best man, of your groom, can provide. will your impromptu plot to flee with Harry, the best man, work, or will you be apprehended, beforehand?
trigger warnings: cheating, sexual content, mature themes.
word count: 14k
includes: Gucci cruise Harry, best man Harry, soft-dominant Harry, vaginal penetration, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), spanking, choking, written in second person.
disclaimer: in no way am i trying to romanticize or make cheating okay. truthfully, i hate it, although i randomly came up with this narrative and had to pursue it. if that bothers you, please don't read this one-shot. this is simply fiction.
based on: ♫ illicit affairs, taylor swift ♫
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
Rome, Italy.
"To my sweet, sweet boy," she says, raising her glass with a red-nailed hand. "Ever since you were little, you've never surprised me. Not in a bad way—for from the moment you were born, I knew you'd be nothing like me. You've always known exactly what you wanted, and have always done anything to get it—which is something I've never been like." Creases crinkle at the corners of her eyes and, if you look close enough, you could visibly see the way the alcohol was affecting her pupils. It doesn't seem like anyone else noticed or cared—but you did.
It was almost your wedding day, after all.
"It's something I could envy, although I am far too proud to do so. I knew from the moment you told me about your delightful fiancée over here," she points to you, her hand swaying in a dramatic manner, "that she was the lady you wanted. And, gosh—when you want something, there's no way out of it, am I right?"
You don't like the sound of that, for the underlying twinge of bitterness in her words rested sourly in your mouth, swirling on your taste buds as you refrained from tipping back the flute of champagne in your hand. You managed to conceal this by laughing along with the visitors and focusing your gaze on the cutlery in front of you, glaring at the array of spoons. It was elegantly laying on the cream tablecloth, metal gleaming beneath the strung lights. Perhaps it appeared more opulent than you anticipated—after all, you wouldn't be looking at cutlery on your wedding day, would you?
You certainly would.
"But, nevertheless, I'm sure this lovely girl would never want a way out. Who would?" The woman grinned, her shiny hair matching the deep red color of her nails—pointily shaped, as though she was wanting to poke someone's eye out. You wouldn't be surprised if that was her intention. "You're so kind, so thrilling. . . any girl would love to have you." Her words came with tears, light weeps leaving her red-painted lips, matching the aura of her glow. Many laughed at her false, humor-filled tear wipes, though your eyes steadied on a fork in front of you, adjusting it into position.
