#also his voice became two octaves higher

[magnificentposting-fabrizioart]

We were talking about the Italians in this show, and this is funny because it doesn't have anything to do with anything, but I simply MUST inform you that the actor playing adult Mustafa (I know, you didn't get there yet) is married to an Italian, speaks the language and lives in Italy. He was even in some Italian things, most recently La Compagnia Del Cigno (some drama about an orchestra idk).

Well that's cool. Does that mean I'm gonna hear unbutchered Italian later on at one point?

Unlikely unless the character himself has reasons to learn it.

[muntitled]

Campus Culture | L.DH

Pairings: Himbo!Haechan x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Haechan turns into a completely loveable but mindless replica of himself when inebriated and only Drunk Haechan might be able to seduce his uptight roomate... it only counts as a drunken mistake if it happens once, right?

Sfw Warnings: Roomates AU, Fwb to Lovers, Forbbidden Relationship, Confessions, Fluff, Alcohol consumption, Angst, CollegeAU, Himbo!Haechan

Nsfw Warnings: Smut (+18, Minors DNI) Fwb to lovers Roomate!Haechan, Perv! Haechan, Dub/CON, Grinding, Choking, Premature Ejaculation, Handjob, Needy!Haechan, Rough sex, Oral Fixation, Nipple play, Unprotected Sex (don't be dumb), Cervix Fucking, Breeding Kink, Cum Play.

A/n: This is more of an enemies to lovers if you squint. If you feel triggered by very slight depictions of bullying, please be wary. I also had no idea where I was going with this. It all just kinda spewed out. ANYWAY, I love Himbos

Usually, you're better equipped for an evening with Haechan's juvenile friends coming over and doing whatever it is that boy's seem to do once they're inebriated in each other's company.

"The bear emerges from hibernation,"

Haechan's voice is like that of a nature documentary narrator, and his head is in his hands as he leans over the armrest with a smile on his face.

“Rested, and in search of something to sink her teeth into.” You remain stoic faced as you breeze past the group of boys on your way to the kitchen adjacent to the living room.

With only a shallow counter to separate the two spaces, you're still roused by the sight of Haechan in your periphery, legs spread and head thrown back as he watches you with a dopey smile.

Jeno, Jaemin, Renjun and Jisung murmur their greetings dismissively, still vividly engrossed in their game while Chenle types away at the screen of his phone, his mind all together trapped in cyberspace. You breathe out airly as a vague sort of peace befalls you. This has become your norm.

They are so incredibly loud, Haechan's friend's are, that their cacophony bled through every thin wall in your shared apartment. So loud, in fact, that you were made privy to every degenerate, delinquent, and downright disgusting little detail that swam about in their conversation.

Whenever they were over, there was a vibrancy permeating throughout the apartment, which was either attributed to Haechan's need to speak at a higher octave than the rest of the group or Chenle’s obnoxious, though admittedly contagious laughter.

Not everything was daisies and sunshine, however.

You were made subject to Haechan's incessant teasing and petulance that only seemed to double in the presence of his friends. You ignored him, viewing his behavior as a package of a roommate system (more accurately: needing his money to keep yourself and your academic pursuits afloat.)

Even more harrowing is the fact that Haechan is completely accommodating, dare you say, even hospitable (when he's sober). It was very difficult to hate him. No matter how badly you wished to let your vexation infect the inner crevices of your mind... he always made sure to let you know in advance.

He'd knock softly on the door (a by-product of a covenant you both had forged upon deciding to live together. Knocking is something akin to treading carefully through a graveyard. Sacred) letting his usually loud voice simmer to a whisper because he almost always caught you studying at your tiny, disastrous desk and he'd say, "Hey, just a heads up, they're coming over tonight,"

You did not need clarification on the ambiguity of who 'they' were but your heart would plummet all the same.

His warning would allow you, not only to stuff your headphones around your neck, for easier access whenever the noise became too oppressive, but it also allowed you to grab the snacks and food necessary before locking yourself in your room.

Not attributed to any social anxiety, but Haechan's friends had proven to be... difficult to bear in their own ways. There was Chenle, Renjun, and Mark, who held a sort of distinguished naughtiness that you fancied way more than Jeno, Jaemin, Jisung, and Haechan's borderline flirting.

It had proven very difficult not to be included in their antics, especially given the very annoying fact that their energy was so freaking infectious.

As you proceed to turn on the kettle, Haechan speaks up once again. “Since you're already there… a coke, please, Madame.” He knew that you knew that he did not actually want a coke. He just wanted to see you vexed.

“Your legs are in perfect working condition, last I checked," your face remained stoic as you said, “Get your own coke.”

Jaemin immediately cackles to Haechan's right, prompting a light snicker from Chenle and the rest. Haechan sends a worried gaze towards them before bringing his eyes back to yours. Now he's on a mission to piss you off even more.

“C’mon...” he whines in an over indulgent American accent. “Be a doll and hand me a coke-I mean a beer." He stretches his neck from side to side, now deep into his theatrics, "I'm a man-”

The knife clanks on the counter as you scoff, “Since when?" You ask, "And what is with this ‘I'm a man’ stuff?”

Haechan only swats animetedly at the air, “It's cus I'm a man, Jagi. You don't get it cus you're not a ma-”

“Yeah,” you say, turning to prepare your noodles, “I don't wanna know actually.”

There's a sudden influx of celebratory hollering from Jaemin and Jeno, while Renjun and Jisung groan in defeat, signaling the end of their game.

Jaemin turns to you as he says “You seriously don't remember?”

You let the silence speak for you.

“He’s been like this ever since the asexual comment.”

The laughter escapes your throat as you shift your eyes to a now moody and grumbling Haechan. His arms are crossed as he avoids eye contact.

“Seriously?! That's why you've been on such a toxic gym bro kick?”

The flamboyant accent is still present as Haechan says, “Hey man, if you're not gonna get me a coke, just say that, I've got places to be people to see-”

The snort leaves your lips before you can stop it, “You've got a psych textbook to see and you're not even seeing that.”

“Stop with the celibacy jokes before he becomes worse!” begs Renjun.

Your mouth is open in false accusation, with the hints of a smile present, “It's quite literally not my fault Haechan's a virgin.”

“I'm not a virgin!” Haechan whines, letting his previously infuriating accent dissolve into his perfectly infuriating normal voice. “I have sex, all the time, tell her Jaemin. Tell her I have sex.” Your eye shifts easily to Jaemin, who only shakes his head.

“Ah, I told my therapist I'm trying to be more honest in my day to day,"

Now your laughter bubbles up to the ceiling, and you're throwing your head back, eyes shut.

“You all make me wanna kill myself.” Says Haechan, pushing himself up from the couch. The sight of him approaching sobers you ineffably from your laughter. He's not particularly tall, but there's a quality about him that asserts itself as height. A silent substitute.

“I’m being falsely accused of being a virgin, I have to get my own cokes?! What is this life of mine?!" A snicker escaped the confines of your lips as you empty your noodles into your bowl. Your albeit small little laugh was a sound so pretty, Haechan could not help but perk his ears up at the sound.

He inched his way slowly into the kitchen as you took one giant unladylike bite from your noodles. Unbeknownst to you, Haechan shares a glance with Chenle over in the living room. One that prompts Chenle into stabbing Renjun in the ribs with his elbow. They were all watching as you tried to shuffle past Haechan.

Haechan, who wouldn't let you pass until heard him say,

"Not a virgin." The words were veneered in a quiet whisper and in those few seconds, you were convinced the globe had stopped spinning on its imaginary axis. You became hyperaware of yourself, the noodles still very much inside your mouth and the soup dribbling out the corners. You clumsily wipe at your lip as you gaze up at him, smiling away like the Cheshire Cat.

While your heart proceeded its cataclysmic aself destruction, Chenle released the first snort. A snort that prompted an entire wave of laughter from his gaggle of friends. They were all laughing now. Haechan's face melted into a spout of his own laughter until he was doubled over.

"Mm," your nostiled flared , "I'll be in my room," You had disappeared in a hurry, hellbent on returning to your room. Hellbent on calming your runaway heart.

While you were nursing wave after wave of embarrassment, Haechan's eyes were sparkling with mischief.

"Don't even try," Jaemin snickered, noticing that look in Haechan's eye as he stared after you. "She's locked up tighter than a prison. You'll only get your wittle heart broken."

Your eyes were practically glued on the endless enriching notes written by Achebe, Lamming, and various other authors you revered religiously. Your studying had been going swimmingly until the arrival of a drunk, slightly dazed Haechan, indicated by the heaviness of his bloodshot eyes and the slight sway in his form by the door. Haechan was a very different person when he was drunk. He got sloppy, as if he was at constant war with reality.

The following Friday had arrived with the small promise that you were to stay in your room for the foreseeable evening. You had chosen to occupy yourself from Haechan's 'get together' by sitting at your desk, like most of your nights: Completely absorbed in perfecting your English Lit notes on Post colonialism.

You both pause, in a vague liminal space until he breaks the silence with a breathy slight slur, “Well, this isn't the bathroom,”

He lived here. He should know where the bathroom is, inebriated or not.

Your eyes narrow. You can't help but snap in a manner that makes you forget all your civility.

“Evidently,” you say with an unimpressed drawl.

There is a tone in your voice that was specifically crafted to have him cringing away from you, like most men on campus tended to do. You were too much of a straight arrow for them, too narrow-minded with not enough complexities and not enough strings that needed detangling. Most men saw that you could smell the bullshit from a mile away, and you were very much aware of what they referred to you as…

Instead of shrinking away like you initially expected, a small, almost thrilled smile curls at the ends of his purt, heart-shaped lips. He only steps closer into your space.

Uptight.

“Don't you need the bathroom-”

“No, don't do that,” You're scowling at him but still, the bear refuses to retreat.

Your messy desk where you remain seated in a chair seems to catch his attention until soon, he's leaning back against the desk in front of you.

“You don't want me here?” He asked, genuinely confused as if everyone was just dying to be in his presence, “I'm not sure what you're busy with over here, but I could help,” He says, swiping a large hand over at the piles of notes scattered on the desk.

“I shouldn't have to tell you not to invade my personal space, Haechan. If this is some stupid dare-"

“I'm going to fucking kill you when you're sober-”

“Only strangers can invade each other's space, Jagiya," he whispers, snortingbas if you were the one acting silly here. “We're not strangers. I'm your dumb virgin roomate, right?"

Your eyes widen imperceptibly as you push yourself up from your chair.

“I'm not even that drunk.” He deadpans. It's as if this boy is unable to mask whatever emotion that seems to pass through him at that very moment.

“Are all these notes yours?” He asks, picking up one of your discarded notes. You strive to grab at the flimsy pieces of notepad paper in his hands, but he swipes it swiftly out of reach every time.

“I just wanted to check on you.” He beams as he pushes himself further along your desk.

“Haechan, you're messing up my system-”

“You must be really smart,” he whispers, and you immediately chastise yourself for letting his words erupt a sudden electrical storm through your once steady heartbeat. “Your handwriting is so pretty too… woah,” he admires before you see his eyes quickly peek about from the paper, “I really like smart girls,”

You find your voice, hidden somewhere in the depths of being flustered. He interrupts you, all the same, “It's okay to say you're smart… I think that's really, like, hot-”

It's impossible to account for the events that followed in a somewhat episodic format because nothing like it had ever happened to you before.

One moment, Haechan is gazing down at you like he wants to eat you and the next, his hand is wrapped around your throat, pulling you up from your chair until your lips are crashing onto his… You had not perceived just how touched starved you were, until you found your inhibitions melting, and you were kissing him back just as fiercely. He was impatient and sloppy, pushing his tongue in too quickly while his hand marked up every inch of your body. “Pretty,” he mumbled in between wet kisses, “You so pretty… y'just feel so pretty.” Once Haechan's lust was involved, the rest of his brain, it seemed, shut down like the finishing hours of a toy factory. He was switching your positions, pushing you onto the desk as he trailed kisses down your neck.

“Your friends,” you murmured before throwing your head back, offering him better access, “We can't.”

“We can,” he nodded, while pushing himself in between your legs, “We can because I want to,” He punctuated his sentence by thrusting his sweatpants-clad hips right against your core. He seemed to have quickly caught a liking to this form of intimacy because soon, Haechan is breaking apart fromcthe kiss to gaze down at his hips pushing against your core.

His breath is peppered with a soft and dazed, “Woah…”

He nodded very slowly, “I like this very much.” Haechan said with grave finality, which evidently was the calm before the storm. You locked your hand around your mouth as Haechan sank his fingers into the sides of your hips, grinding his bulge against your core like there was nothing else that mattered. He brought your hips to meet each of his stuttering but hard thrusts and your head fell back in the stuttering… constant… impact.

“See?” He says, “See how good it feels?” he mumbles incoherently, now in a violent pursuit of his own orgasm. “F-Fuck,” he whimpered, feeling his cock twitching in his sweats. A feeling that usually let him know the end was near. He quickly clamped his hands on the underside of your ass before lifting you slightly off the desk, just enough to move impossibly closer between your legs.

He hugged you, wanting to feel your soft tits pushing up against him as he was grinding you both to a quick orgasm.

“You're close aren't you?” His voice cracks when he says, “Please be close, because I'm so fucking close-”

But all you're able to do is fight to keep your eyes open as you watch the slightly cracked open door. “H-Haechan-”

“Look at me, Cupcake,” he practically whined before forcefully bringing your eyes back to him with a flick of your chin.

The eye contact sent him down a rampage of lust and his hips stuttered as his mouth hung open,“F-Fuck, just like that- you're so good-” he lifted his baggy shirt, to watch himself thrust one more time before his rhythm crumbled and his hips stuttered as he came in his sweats.

You did not have the energy to tell him you didn't cum, only sprouting a brand new vexation as he swayed his way in search of the bathroom.

That had been your first and last devious encounter, before you avoided him like the plague. It had not taken much, because Haechan was vastly more sensible when he was sober. Emerging from his room like a bear out of his den and rubbing his messy head of black hair as he grumbled, “Did I do something weird last night? Or stupid?” He groans, “I have this feeling that I did something extra stupid and weird last night.” Although your heart plummeted minutely, you saw this as a lifeline and you took it.

“You were drunk, Haechan, so you probably most certainly did.”

You allowed yourself to live in the peace of sober Haechan until things once again only got dangerous on Friday nights, when his enablers would all congregate in the living room, tossing back cans of beer.

Your quick trip to the bathroom had ended with Haechan looming in the doorway, once again. With a near constant pout he exclaimed, “I missed you!”

“You see me everyday,” you grumbled before making your way to the sink to wash your hands. There was a bubbling in your stomach, that you would only dissect later. Whether it was excitement or frustration at seeing him this way.

“Still missed you-”

“I think you missed my body,” you said, before drying your hands, “Not me.”

“Both. I missed both,” he says, before beaming the sunniest, brightest smile you had ever seen on a face. You had to look away as you stepped towards him, for your sanity.

“Please move, Hyuck-”

“I wanna play,” he says, “We had so much fun the last time,”

“You fucking seduced me the last time and I fell for it like an idiot." You sighed deeply, "I studied myself to exhaustion. Im such a fucking idiot.”

He looks deep into your eyes as he very seriously says, “Don't say that-”

“What do you like about me? I mean what could you actually like and appreciate about me-” For all of 5 seconds the boy is trapped in a worrying daze. As the seconds tick on, your blood pressure rises and you're pushing roughly at his chest, which once again proves to be futile. “Fucking move, Haechan. I'm not doing this with you.”

His whines soar higher, “But why?! I didn't even really get to see your boobs, please let me see your boobs?” you stop his hand on its way to cup your breasts in mid air. He slumps

“You make me wanna kill myself.” He grumbles before stomping away to rejoin his friends. As Haechan sat down he breathed out heavily before whining, kicking and punching at the air. His friends, seeing nothing new with his tantrum, did not entertain it as they played their games.

Haechan just couldn't understand. He wanted you and, based on everything that transpired, you wanted him. So why not just let it happen?

You were making things too complicated and complicated is not something he enjoyed very much.

Haechan did not grasp onto much but you make it exceptionally clear that you did not want the interaction to be made public knowledge, and he, surprisingly obeyed your wishes. Your only enemy, it seems, were these hangouts Haechan scheduled with his friends. You liked to avoid unnecessary juvenile squabbling when necessary. You had to study instead, until you built the proper revenue to buy an apartment of your own, free from Haechan's provocation.

But you had fallen asleep.

The dusk bleeding into darkness until you were peeling your face off of your Classical lit textbook and nursing a grumbling stomach...

Your ears perked and your stomach sank as you heard boyish laughter bleed in through the cracks of the doorway. They had already arrived and you had zero rations to combat this venomous hunger.

It was guaranteed to be a short and curt journey past the small apartment living room, into the kitchen. A journey whereby you would pray you evade the group of boys invading your shared living room. Or at least one boy in particular...

Had Haechan been a non factor, your anxieties would have been perfectly nullified, but tin the wake of a troublesome post-study hunger, you had no other choice but to venture out into the living room.

You had hope your trip would be a curt one, entertaining not a single, word, jab, or comment as you were on your way to fly to the kitchen. Your feet stopped you before you could make it. Arrested in stark realisation that there is no noise at all. You round the short corner to find Haechan seated patiently on his couch with his hoodie up, tapping away at a mobile game while humming angelically. You immediately noted that he was sober and that set your mild frustrations at ease.

“Oh, hey,” you murmured, before swaying over to the adjoining Kitchen, separated only by a shallow counter. As you stare down at your yoghurt, you miss the way in which Haechan's face snaps up at tye sound of your voice. His feet fly off the coffee table and he rights himself infinitesimally.

“You guys aren't hanging out today?”

“There's a party somewhere on campus,” he switches his phone off and stuffs it into the pocket of his goodies as he shrugs, “Didn't feel like going.”

You walk back into the living room, and Haechan watches as you nod silently before planting yourself on the couch next to him. He's very perceptive and plants a couch cushion behind your back in the process. You realise then that you much preferred him this way.

“I'm having a hard time guaging the fact that you didn't wanna get drunk,” although a short chuckle escapes your lips, Haechan is not laughing. “I don't always think about getting drunk, you know.” The smile disappears from your face automatically as you bring a spoon of yoghurt to your lips.

“Of course… sorry-”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” Haechan watches your tongue lightly poke out and nip at the yoghurt before lazily bringing his eyes back to you. “If anything, I should be sorry.” An immediate wave of discomfort washed over you when the words left his mouth. So he was aware.

“Drunk Haechan sucks,” he says, “You don't have to make excuses for him.” You're caught in a wave of silence, your yoghourt forgotten on your lap. He wants to pull back but he has your attention now and it's fueling him with all the confidence he needs before he's scooting closer on the couch, until your thigh is directly against his.

“Earlier in the week you asked me what I like about you-”

“Haechan, you don't have to-”

The discomfort bled into embarrassment now and you fought to get up but he placed his hand on yours.

“I don't remember what I said,'' his lips pout lightly as his eyebrows furrow, “I don't know if I said anything at all. I just… want you to know that I wasn't quiet because nothing came to mind. I was speechless because it was like trying to list the stars. Tiring and fucking endless.” He breathed out, before looking away abashedly, “You're a good cook,” he says, “you always make us something to eat for Friday nights. You're so driven, in a way that is equal parts obsessive but also really fucking hot.” Your mouth parts slightly and Haechan's eyes once again lazily drops down to watch them. His voice is airy and loght as he says, “Fuck, and you're so pretty and smart.” He's speaking purely from a place of lust and admiration, which only has you melting further. You much preferred this Haechan.

“You make me feel safe because I know you always have the answers…” You let his words hang stagnant in the air for a while, letting yourself marinate in the pleasure of it, while his own thumb rubs circles around the back of your hand.

“I mean…” The Insecurities were steadily sinking in because by the laws of campus culture, you both were not supposed to be together. Your names were met with different responses and different emotions attached to them. You'd hate his popularity to diminish because of you. Instead of spewing out these words, you only whispered, “Are you sure? I mean, think of what people-”

In a series of swift movements, Haechan's hand cradling your own had gripped down tighter before dragging your hand until it was flush against his bulge. He releases a heavy breath as his eyes fall momentarily shut. Gritting his teeth together as he throws his head back in momentary euphoria as if he had been waiting to do this.

He brushes your hand up and down as he says, “Don't you dare ask me if I'm sure.” He says, unable to stop himself rutting against your hand. A wave of confidence soon falls until you're taking control and crawling your hand up to the waistband of his sweats. He whines in anticipation as you stuff your hand inside until you are cupping his underwear-clad bulge in your open palm. Haechan's eyes are heavy when he swings his head lazily to you, watching you watch his hips lift to graze himself against your hand.

“I need you,” he whispers, before raising a hand, immediately cupping your breasts, “I need you so fucking bad.” He can feel the presume wet the tight constraints of his boxers and he locks his jaw tighter. “I wanna fuck you, Cupcake,” your stomach warms at the reiterating of the nickname he had given you when he was drunk and equally ravenous, “Please let me,” He juts his hips up with every whine that escapes his throat, “Please-”

“I need you too-” before the words even leave your mouth he's lunging at you in a wild kiss. “Fuck, your lips are so soft,” he mumbles before forcing his his thumb into your mouth and watching with heavy eyelids as he lowers you onto the couch. Your jaw goes limp as Haechan, seemingly entranced with swiping his thumb along your wet tongue.

“So warm,” he murmurs as he hovers above you. Haechan lowers himself between your open legs, “Your mouth I'd so fucking pretty, so fucking warm-”

He sounded exactly like he sounded when he was drunk. Sloppy, incoherent and not making much sense. But you could not discount the pool of wetness that glistened your underwear as Haechan continued to play with your tongue.

“Fuck-” He whispers, watching the saliva coat his finger as he unconsciously thrusts his bulge once again into your core. He seems too realise that he hadn't, in fact, pulled his cock out and he curses lightly before hurriedly moving to do just that.

“Your boobs-” He whispers as he pulls his aching cock out, “Please let me see-”

Before the words even leave his mouth you're pulling your shorts and top off swiftly. Haechan immediately doubles over, thrusting into the air once before he's fisting the base of his cock, as if he was on the cusp of cumming.

“F-Fuck, I think I need to fuck you now-” He said, already sinking deep into you. Your moans fight valiantly to drown out his perpetual whines before he buries his face in between your neck and shoulders. He's breathing heavily as he begins to fuck steadily up into you, releasing little melodic ‘hah, hah, hah's as he peels back to look down at you with heavy pussy-drunk eyes.

“Fuck it feels so good, Haechan,” he thrusts harder at that before lowering his lips to your nipple and sucking without ever breaking eye contact. The stimulation from your nipple and the head of his cock bumping into your cervix has your mind spinning with euphoria. You haven't even cum yet but this feels like you're trapped in that same state of pleasure.

“Fuck, baby you're so tight around my cock,’ his breath blows down against your wet nipple and you buck your hips up to meet his thrusts. “If you carry on like this you're gonna make me spill inside you,” you throw your head back, mouth parting even wider as a chorus of moans leave your throat after his sentence.

“F-Fuck you want that? You want me to cum inside you?”

You cannot speak, completely fargone at this point but your cunt still clenching around him is all the answer he needs before he's ramming into you with urgency. “Fuck, you,make me feel so good Cupcake-” He's once again pressing his fingers into your mouth, as of needing to feel the warm wetness just to get off.

He's looking down at you as of you hung the moon, “F-Fuck I'm cumming-” He fights to keep his eyes open and watch you whine around his fingers as your own orgasm crashes in violent succession. You're both fighting to press your hips together, he's fighting to stay inside as an endless string of cum flights to push him out. You're both breathing heavily, both staring into each other's eyes as Haechan pulls his middle and index finger out of your mouth. You're absolutely speechless as he cleans his fingers with his own mouth, all without breaking eye contact.

“I… can't believe I came like that-” You say, eyes caught in a daze.

“Shit- I was supposed to rub your clit, wasn't I?” He's already slipping out of you and craning open your legs.

“N-No, Haechan I came, I promise I came. Fuck-” He's rubbing small circles against your puffy clit, using his cum as lube. “You have no idea how badly I needed you cumminh around my cock like that,” he says before spraying a gentle kiss against your knee. He's playing with your cunt, not to bring you to orgasm, you realise, but unconsciously. “We're boyfriend and girlfriend now, right?”

You snicker lightly before nodding with finality. Thus, as the beginning of a new but interesting dynamic, in which you drove Haechan to study more while he, in the same breath, got you to open up more. He dropped your inhibitions and coaxed you out of your comfort zone…

[vaguesxrrow]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE EDWIN X RECENTLY DEAD MALE READER!!!! I NEED MORE MLM READER STUFF AND ALSO I'M A SUCKER FOR THE LONG DEAD AND USED TO IT/THE RECENTLY DEAD CONFUSED AND SCARED THING!!!!

hii yes ofc ! lovedd writing this so i hope u enjoy reading :>>

edwin payne / recently dead!reader

a/n: reader's cause of death is unspecified aside from he died on the street, and also he has an apartment.

anddd uh i forgot that death usually comes for newly dead people... so excuse that inaccuracy please or explain it away with how reader ran away from his body

wc: 1886

tags: male reader, ghost reader

cw's: mention of death, panic attacks (all not detailed)

you ran, leaving your body behind you where it lay on the sidewalk, limp and as still as rigor mortis (you never thought that saying could be applied literally, but now it was, and wasn't that crazy?).

you were panicking, you vaguely registered, as the passerby's and the cars seemed to blur in your vision. people kept passing right through you, and you hunched in on yourself. even if you couldn't feel them (which was also a new, unwelcome epiphany), it still made your skin crawl.

until - a firm hand rested on your shoulder. your breath hitched, like you couldn't quite figure out if the touch was welcome or not.

"are you quite alright?" the hand's voice asked. you looked up, half expecting to see a horror movie-style ghost. instead, however, you were met with angled features that were sharp, yet softened by visible concern at the same time. the boy's brown eyes were narrowed, and his hair looked a little wind swept.

okay. definitely a welcome touch.

"can you hear me? are you alright?" he repeated.

you snapped out of your stupor. "oh," you said dumbly. "i- i don't... know."

he cocked his head to the side, sympathy in the way he pursed his lips and his gaze became gentler. "what do you last remember?"

"...i was walking. and then... i wasn't? it's kind of black after that. i was laying down when i came to..." your eyes widened. you meant to ask, 'am i dead?', but instead what came out was a strangled, "oh my god."

"it is important to remain calm," edwin advised. "i can help you."

you nodded vigorously. "okay, yeah, i could use your help." especially because your voice was getting an octave higher with every word you spoke. so much for remaining calm.

before you knew it, the boy had guided you to a bench and sat you on it, plopping down right next to you as he waited for you to regain your composure. his arm was around yours, securing you snugly to his side - it was comforting.

"i'm dead, aren't i?" you intoned numbly.

he sighed. "yes. but that does not mean everything is over."

"earlier... everyone just passed through me. like i wasn't there at all."

"it is lonely, at first. but then it is not," he said. "take my case for example - my best mate is charles - he's dead as well - and we have two alive friends named crystal and niko, who are part of the small proportion of people who can see us. when you find the right people, it becomes very difficult to feel lonely."

"charles, crystal, and niko..." you repeated. "and what's your name?"

"edwin payne."

"nice to meet you, edwin. and thanks for helping. i'm [name]."

"not a problem," edwin said. "my friends and i are often in the habit of assisting ghosts, although you are the first recently dead i have personally come across in a very long time."

"how long?" you inquired. "i mean, when did you... kick the bucket?"

"1916," he told you gently.

your eyes widened. "riiight."

you fell silent again. as you were contemplating your current circumstances, several voices yelled edwin's name.

approaching you were three people. two girls - one with white hair, the other with curly brown - and a boy with near-black ringlets.

"edwin, mate, we couldn't find you anywhere!" the boy exclaimed.

"yes, well-" edwin began.

"who's this?" the white haired girl cut in, looking at you curiously.

edwin rolled his eyes fondly. "this is [name]. he recently... became a ghost."

"does he know any cool ghost tricks yet?" she asked.

you thought you felt a headache coming on.

"[name], these are my friends. niko, crystal, and charles." he gestured to them in order of mention. they all waved at you, even if the last two looked a bit wary.

"hi," you said meekly.

"we were just discussing the events of [name]'s death."

charles coughed pointedly. "maybe give the guy time to process he even is dead?"

"oh! my apologies, [name]. are you still feeling unwell?"

your eyes darted between crystal and niko as they exchanged glances at edwin's apology, like they were surprised. it confused you as to why - he seemed perfectly nice so far... and very charming.

"i'm good," you told edwin, flashing a smile. "i just... don't know where to go. i can't go back to my apartment, can i? i'm dead. it's not like i could continue living there."

"i read somewhere that it's good to revisit places from the past," niko informed you earnestly. "it can be very healing."

"hey, edwin, you should walk him back to his apartment!" crystal piped up.

"hm?" niko cocked her head at her friend. "oh! oh, yes, edwin, you totally should. you're a dead boy detective, after all. go help people!"

you thought you'd get whiplash trying to keep up with the conversation. "you're a what now-?"

edwid stood abruptly, brushing invisible dust off his coat. "perhaps i will walk [name] back to his apartment. if you feel inclined to." the last part was directed at you.

"oh- i wouldn't want to inconvenience you guys..." you said.

"nonsense." he held out a hand to you. "we are the dead boy detective agency, after all."

you still didn't know what that was, but you trusted edwin in spite of only having known him for less than an hour. so, you took his hand. you couldn't feel it, but the imagined weight and warmth of his palm against yours gave you comfort, dissipating the fear and apprehension inside you just a little bit.

⌦ --

the apartment building loomed above you. suddenly, it felt so big and intimidating - you felt no trace of excitement at the quaintness of it like you always had before. the reason you chose to live here was the brick walls and the carefully tended vines snaking along the front. not to mention, it was tall - 10 stories - and sort of reminded you of rapunzel's tower.

"ready?" edwin prompted.

you nodded, and let him pull you through the door - which you passed through with ease. you knew you were incorporeal at best in your current state, but you still cringed, bracing yourself for an impact that never came.

"it gets easier, eventually," edwin told you, having noticed your unease.

"yeah, okay," you said. and you were convinced. "i guess it'll help having an experienced ghost guide with me." you beamed at him.

his lips parted slightly in surprise. "i promise to do whatever i can to make this adjustment easier for you."

you chuckled. "edwin, you are honestly so charming..." you muttered to yourself as you headed towards the elevator. another reason you loved this complex so much was because you didn't have to conquer the 10 floors with just the stairs.

how did ghosts usually travel up places? you had no clue, but you were grateful that edwin kept silent at your decision to take the lift.

a 'ding' sounded and the doors parted open, instantaneously revealing the door that led to your room. your landlady had been kind enough to let you paint it a lovely burnt orange colour.

"that's me," you sighed. "c'mon."

your apartment was just as you remembered you left it this morning. not that you'd logically expected any change... but the fear-addled part of you had maybe been picturing a ransacked room, band posters ripped off the wall and all your ceramic cups shattered across the floor.

"this is weird," you voiced as you drifted from the door to the couch, then to the small kitchenette.

you shivered, not from the cold - you would never feel cold again, you thought, a bit hysterically - but from the all-encompassing grief you felt for yourself.

"i'm kind of sad i died. i know i'm still here... i'm not gone gone, or anything, but i'm still sad. is that weird?" you turned towards edwin, who was watching you with an unidentifiable look in his eyes.

"not at all." he put a hand on your shoulder. "there is much more to be done, even after your living time has expired." he paused, seeming to consider something. "i could... i could show you, if you would like."

"show me what?"

"the dead boy detectives' office," he said. "perhaps it will serve as a distraction."

warmth spread inside you, touched at his thoughtfulness. "that'd be great."

"excellent." edwin smiled, looking pleased. "do you have a mirror?"

your iron-tight grip on edwin's hand never ceased its hold, even after the two of you emerged from the other side of the mirror. panting, you gave your insides a moment to settle from the very jarring travel.

"that was so cool," you gasped. "even if it was unexpected. is this what niko meant by cool ghost tricks?"

"quite," edwin said. "now, welcome to the dead boy detectives' office. allow me to show you around."

his hand was still in yours, you noticed as he led you to a bookshelf and gave an overview of the different volumes it held. you made no move to pull away - partially because you didn't want to break his flow (you saw why he was so proud of it, and it was cute hearing him ramble), partially because you enjoyed the contact.

then, he showed you to a shelf that, if you didn't know any better, would have looked like a knick knack shelf, albeit one belonging to an eccentric grandma. on it were objects ranging from bones (human or not, you couldn't tell) to the rubber balls you found in vending machines.

"these," edwin proclaimed. "are the more interesting payments we have received. some enchanted, some not. i keep a document of which are and aren't."

he picked up a metal ring, with a dark sapphire gem in the middle. "like this, for example. it isn't enchanted, but it dates back to the edwardian era. when i was alive." he sighed wistfully, and lifted your hand, where your fingers were still intertwined. "may i?"

you nodded, watching his face. his eyes met yours, and he smiled shyly as he slipped the ring onto your finger.

"i acknowledge that we have only just become acquainted," edwin began. "but i have never become so fond of a boy this quick before."

"...so, in 21st century speak, you like me?" you questioned, half-teasing.

the two of you chucked in unison.

edwin cleared his throat. "yes, i think i do."

"then you won't mind if i..." you let the way you leaned down slightly finish your sentence.

"please," he said.

the kiss was chaste and fleeting, but it was enough for you to decide you definitely wanted to do it again.

"was that okay?" you checked in with edwin.

he nodded quickly. "yes, yes. very much so."

"good." you bit back a grin.

"would you like to stick around?" he blurted. "around the office, i mean, and with my friends and i. it isn't every day i meet a boy like you, and i... think i would rather like your company."

"i think i'd like your company, too," you admitted.

he held out a hand, making you laugh at the formality of it. "well then, welcome to the dead boy detectives' agency." he said. "i, for one, am very happy to have you here.”

[eggtartz]

a/n : based on real life events that i had back in 2020 😭

summary : south + taiju + shin's reaction when you called saying you got into an accident during your class. (i don't know about other countries either they have classes to take license but just say mine have one and this is the situation)

south

- he was napping when he received a call from you. groggily he asked you and you said "okay but don't be mad"

- became weirded out by it and his voice jump an octave higher when you said you were at the clinic due to you involved in an accident.

- asked the clinic address and rushed on his bike to see you

- when he arrived, he was very (and may i say very) loud asking what happened, how did it happened.

- you grabbed his arm and put your palm on his mouth to prevent him being more (if possible) loud

- you gently exposed the cloth that was covering your wound and south looked like he was two seconds away from crying

- after two weeks of recovering, you were back on your feet to attend your class again until your boyfriend stopped you

- "you don't have to take the class, i can teach you how to ride. even better if you don't ride at all. much better if you don't go near a bike at all"

- he's just very worried, do assure him from time to time

taiju

- he was washing the dishes when the phone ringtone startled him

- you said frantically between breaths that you accidentally twisted the gas and bumped into the road divider

- his eyes widened and asked if there was anyone there to bring help you to the clinic

- "im already at the clinic taiju but it hurts so much"

- say less, he's already speeding up like a maniac to reach you

- arriving there, he gave kisses on your forehead and gave you praises to calm you down

- sniffling, you tried to walk but stumbled back so taiju called hakkai to bring the car because he used his bike to reach here quickly

- after a few minutes, hakkai arrived and helped you into the car while taiju's bike was following behind

- he asked you to quit classes for now and go after you feel better (he lowkey wants you to stop fully but he won't say it)

shinichiro

- HE WOULD BE A PANICKING MESS

- poor grandpa sano woke up from his nap when he heard his eldest grandson screaming "YOU GOT INTO AN ACCIDENT?"

- accidentally woke up manjiro and emma too

- he would not hang up the phone so you had to hear his motorcycle speed up againts other cars (terrifying how it sounds so fast too)

- he almost didn't parked the bike, wanted to throw it on the ground because he was dead worried

- arriving there, you saw him crying eyes puffy and cheeks stained (he was so worried :"()

- he would take a glance at your wound and cried even harder

- oh dear he would be wailing because you looked like you were in much pain and would do anything to take the pain away

- he slept at your house for a week to take care of you

- told his friends not to find him as he's busy (he still told his siblings where he went though)

a/n : also the accident scar is like permanent so lmao 😭 i actually legit don't know where's the brakes and gas and everything so i accidentally sped up instead of hitting the breaks and crashed into the road divider 😭 IN FRONT OF MANY PEOPLE TOO 😭

[justforbooks]

The sultry 1969 hit single Je T’aime … Moi Non Plus was a four-and-a-half-minute distillation of languid Gallic cool, in which a Frenchman, his voice coarsened by Gitanes, is heard billing and cooing with an ecstatically sighing young Englishwoman over the swirling motif of a baroque organ. That man was Serge Gainsbourg; his companion was Jane Birkin, the actor and singer, who has died aged 76. Though Birkin worked with some of the world’s finest film-makers, including Jacques Rivette and Agnès Varda, she knew that Je T’aime … would be remembered above everything else she did. “When I die, that’ll be the tune they play, as I go out feet first,” she said.

Birkin was 21 when she and Gainsbourg met while starring together in the film Slogan (1969). He was 40, and had previously recorded Je T’aime … as a duet with Brigitte Bardot, only for the actor to withdraw permission for it to be released. Birkin had already starred in a 1965 musical, Passion Flower Hotel, scored by John Barry, whom she married that year at the age of 19 and from whom she was divorced in 1968; he was the father of Kate, the first of Birkin’s three daughters. But it was on the duet with Gainsbourg, she said, that for the first time “somebody thought I had a pretty voice”.

She sang her part an octave higher than Bardot. “It gave it a choirboy side that [Gainsbourg] liked a lot,” she said. Rumor's that the vocal track was recorded under the covers during a moment of intimacy were untrue (the couple were standing at separate microphones in a studio in central London) though they did nothing to harm the mythology surrounding a song that was later condemned by the Vatican. “I just remember thinking it was all terribly funny,” she said.

Among the countries that refused to give the song airplay was Britain, where it became the first banned single to reach the top of the charts, as well as the first non-English-language No 1. It was also the lead track on the 1969 album Jane Birkin/Serge Gainsbourg.

Birkin’s life remained inextricably linked to his. They were together for 11 years, and had a daughter, Charlotte, who became a successful singer and actor. Even after they separated in 1980, he continued to write for her, and she went on performing his songs for the rest of her life.

Far from being an adjunct to Gainsbourg’s legend, she possessed her own style, intelligence and attitude. Her wistful beauty was rendered unorthodox by an eager, gap-toothed smile. Her voice was as bewitching as her face: though she lived in France from 1969 onwards, and spoke French fluently, she never shed her breathy, crisply English accent.

She was born in London to Judy Campbell, an actor who had been a muse to Noël Coward, and David Birkin, who was a lieutenant commander in the Royal Navy and a spy during the second world war. His duties included taking British spies across the Channel to France and bringing back stranded airmen and escaped prisoners of war.

Jane was educated at Upper Chine school on the Isle of Wight. At 17 she starred with Ralph Richardson in Graham Greene’s play Carving a Statue; Greene himself had a hand in casting her. Her screen acting career began with a walk-on part in The Knack … and How to Get It (1965) and a controversial nude scene in Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blow-Up, which she agreed to because Barry had told her she wouldn’t dare.

She had a small role in the Warren Beatty caper Kaleidoscope (also 1966), played a model called Penny Lane in the psychedelic curiosity Wonderwall (1968) and starred with Romy Schneider and Alain Delon in the psychological thriller La Piscine (1969). She got on famously with Bardot when they starred together in Don Juan, or If Don Juan Were a Woman (1973). Gainsbourg directed her in a 1976 film named after their hit song; he cast her as a boyish woman who attracts the attentions of a gay man, played by the Warhol regular Joe Dallesandro.

Birkin was tremendous fun in two star-studded Agatha Christie thrillers, Death on the Nile (1978) and Evil Under the Sun (1982). In the cryptic Love on the Ground (1984), Rivette cast her and Geraldine Chaplin as actors drawn into a playwright’s mysterious world. She appeared in two films, The Pirate (1984) and Comedy! (1987), made by her then partner, Jacques Doillon, with whom she had her third daughter, Lou, also a singer and actor. Jean-Luc Godard directed her in Keep Your Right Up (also 1987), while for Varda she played a woman besotted with a 14-year-old boy in Kung-Fu Master! (1988); the film co-starred Charlotte and featured Lou, and was inspired by an idea by Birkin herself.

In the same year, Varda made her the subject of Jane B For Agnès V, in which the actor performed a variety of specially scripted scenes (in one, she was a Stan Laurel type, in another a cockney mother) interspersed with musings on her life. She received the documentary treatment once again when her daughter directed Jane By Charlotte (2021).

Her two most impressive performances came in Bertrand Tavernier’s These Foolish Things, aka Daddy Nostalgie (1990), in which she was moving as a woman trying to repair her relationship with her dying father (Dirk Bogarde); and La Belle Noiseuse (1991), Rivette’s spellbinding four-hour study of a painter (Michel Piccoli) and his new muse (Emmanuelle Béart), in which Birkin played the artist’s wife and former model, who must deal with the indignity of having her younger self literally painted over.

Later films included Alain Resnais’s musical On Connaît la Chanson (1997) and the Merchant-Ivory coming-of-age story A Soldier’s Daughter Never Cries (1998).

In 2002 Birkin was diagnosed with leukaemia, but by 2006 she had made her directorial debut with the autobiographical family drama Boxes, which she also wrote and starred in, along with Chaplin, Piccoli, John Hurt and her daughter Lou. She appeared in Rivette’s final film, Around a Small Mountain (2009), played herself in Hong Sang-soo’s Nobody’s Daughter Haewon, and was reunited with Tavernier for his comedy The French Minister (also 2013).

Her look had been widely applauded in the 1960s, and seemed never to go out of date. In the 80s Hermès introduced a large and exorbitantly priced leather bag, named “the Birkin” in her honour. Fashion journalists in recent years could still be heard celebrating the “Jane Birkin top”, referring to the white lace dress made famous by her in the late 60s. “Real life was what I was best at,” she told Vogue magazine in 2016. “I didn’t have confidence in movie cameras or on stage. But I did have confidence in what I wanted in real life. If I wanted to be barefoot and wear a mackintosh, I would do it. I didn’t give a hoot.”

It was at 40 that she finally discarded her youthful ingénue image and performed her first live concert: “I cut my hair off like a boy, I wore men’s clothes. I only wanted people to hear the music and words. It was fantastic. And it was so frightening. Serge was there and he kept lighting his cigarette lighter to make everybody put their lighters on.” That show was preserved on her 1987 album, Jane Birkin au Bataclan. She continued singing and recording into her old age; among her later albums is Birkin/Gainsbourg: Le Symphonique, from 2017, in which the couple’s songs received new orchestral arrangements.

In 2020 she published Munkey Diaries 1957-1982, containing diary entries addressed to her favourite cuddly toy from childhood, which she can be seen clutching on the cover of Gainsbourg’s 1971 album Histoire de Melody Nelson. She buried the toy with him after his death in 1991.

She is survived by Charlotte and Lou, and six grandchildren, and by her brother, Andrew, and sister, Linda. Kate, a photographer, died in 2013.

🔔 Jane Mallory Birkin, actor and singer, born 14 December 1946; died 16 July 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[beaniebeensbaby201]

DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED (HANGMAN X READER)

A/N: SORRY I have been very busy, and I hadn't been wanting to write in a while. Lately I have been reading many Top Gun fanfics the last few days so I decided to make a mini series. I'll try to update every other day or so.

Summary:

Hailey "Frost" Bradshaw has always known what she wanted to do with her life. To be like her father, to become the best pilot alongside her brother.

When she's called back to Top Gun, everything changes, including her feelings for a certain pilot. Jake "Hangman" Seresin. A cocky, arrogant asshole who knew how to get under her skin. What will happen once the two rekindled and this mission is more dangerous than the other thought? Will they finally admit they're love for one another, or will they still pretend the facade that they're keeping just so they don't hurt each other?

Characters name: Hailey Bradshaw. Her cosign name is Frost.

I'm gonna make a masterlist once chapter two is published. Chapter two will be published tomorrow night. Maybe around ten PM or so, at least for America.

Brie larson is Hailey btw.

CHAPTER ONE

Hailey was with her best friend as they sat in the blue bronco.

"I don't want to see him." Hailey looked over at Bradley, her father told her that Maverick was coming to Top Gun.

Ever since Maverick pulled Rooster's papers, the two have gotten closer. They both despised Maverick for what he's done.

"We'll ignore him, you my love make sure you keep your anger at bay." Bradley glared at Hailey, only for the blonde girl to give him a stern look.

"What about you and Hangman? You two are always at each other's throats." Hailey opened her mouth, as her eyes widened.

"Nothings going on between me and that jackoff. He's a total prick, he just gets on my nerves!" The girl exclaimed, her voice going a higher octave than normal.

Bradley couldn't help but smirk, her face getting red. Whenever she was frustrated she'd always talk with her hands, and she would always babble whenever she didn't like something, or when she was nervous.

"C'mon, let's not hold them up anymore." Rooster said, cutting off the frustrated woman.

Hailey let out a loud groan of annoyance. Her head hitting the dashboard, but obliged and got out of the Ford bronco.

The two entered the hard deck together. In just a few minutes the hard deck will be crowded with men in uniforms, Penny, the admiral's daughter, decided to take over as the new owner. She had owned this bar for a few years now, and it basically became her home whenever she'd visit her Uncle.

Bradley went over to the pool table, Hailey noticed Maverick but she made sure not to make any sort of eye contact. Hailey leaned into Bradley as the two headed over to their friends.

"She looks just like Carole." Maverick asked Penny, as the two adults watched how the two of them were close.

"She also has humor like her father. She has his laugh." Maverick's lip twitched up into a small smile, as he looked at the twins.

"Bagman." Her voice was laced with distastate.

Her and Rooster were the only two with no uniforms on, but in regular outfits.

Hangman was at least a foot taller than her, causing Hailey to crane her neck up in order to look at him. He had the same smirk, she can't recall a moment where she hadn't seen him with that same smirk. It's almost as if he didn't have any other smiles.

"Bradshaw, as I live and breathe." Hailey rolled her eyes at the arrogant, yet hot asshole.

"Bagman, I'm surprised they called you in." Hangman crossed his arms over his chest, getting closer to the girl.

Phoenix was standing next to Rooster.

"How long are they going to keep this up for?" Rooster shrugged, watching his best friend and their enemy in a heated staring contest.

"Well, I am the best sweetheart." Hailey couldn't help but snort.

"You're the best?" Hailey couldn't help but let out a laugh. Maverick couldn't help but look over at them, she did have his laugh.

"You let those around you die, you really think you're the best pilot here?" Even if it was a little harsh, it was true.

"Sooo, anyways. Does anyone know what this special detachment is all about?" Payback asked, wanting to ease the tension in the room.

"A mission, a mission. That doesn't confront me, what I wanna know is the team leader. And which all yall have what it takes to follow me?" The two twins looked at one another, they both knew that Hangman was not going to be the leader of the team. If anything it would be an early death.

"You'd kill us all, Seresin. You don't have what it takes to be a leader, and like I said before, you kill those around you." Her voice was cold, the reason why they called her Frost.

That's the difference between her and her brother. She didn't care about the consequences of her words, or her actions. But she knew how to be safe while breaking the rules like her Uncle Maverick. Hangman himself knew that she was more fit as the leader, but he wouldn't ever admit it out loud.

"Why would they have you as leader? You think you're that great of a pilot, you could admit, you think you're the best. But I feel like if you were the leader we'd just run out." Hailey couldn't help but slap him across the cheek. She let him win, she allowed him to anger her with his words.

"You're a prick." Her voice was low, as she leaned closer to his face. Enough for her to smell the beer that he had just finished on his breath.

A song played in the distance, Hangman still had that smirk plastered across his lips. She wonders if his mouth ever hurted from always being in a smirk, but she didn't bother asking.

"I love this song!" He leaned down to kiss her cheek. She was quick to rub it off and had a disgusted look on her face.

"Ugh, I can't stand him." Phoenix stood next to her, a soft chuckle escaped her lips as she saw her basically rub off her makeup from Jake's lips on her cheek.

Hailey leaves to go to Payback and play some darts where Hangman was. Both Phoenix and her brother looked at the way the two nemesis were.

"I bet you 100 bucks that they'll get together by the end of this mission." Phoenix was the first to speak, knowing that the two were both thinking the same thing.

"Make it 300 pushups." Bradley couldn't help himself. He always found his sister's love life entertaining, especially when it involved the most insufferable man in the world.

"You're on." The two bumped fists as Bradley takes a sip of his half empty bottle of beer.

[crystalsnow95z]

I'm sorry if you weren't here for a feels trip.

Requester, i'm sorry it took so long to finish and it ended in a completely different direction. I had lots of trouble with this one, but I'm finally semi-happy with the results. It's ridiculously long and i couldn't choose what scenes to delete..

It became more angst than anything..

Trigger warning: car accident, hospital stay and anxiety attack.

Also a bit of vom*t..

Taehyung, Yoongi and Jimin are the ones in this car, nothing major but enough to scare the boys for sure. Skip the first part to avoid the accident.

"Did you guys reach the hignway yet?" Hoseok speaks into the walkie-talkie to talk to the other car. Taehyung, jimin, and Yoongi were driving separately from the other, and the staff gave them a pair of walkie talkies to use.

"No, we just got caught by a red light. You're gonna beat us there.." Jimin replies, looking at the GPS. "It looks like we're still two kilometers away from it."

"Are we starting as soon as we reach the site?" Jungkook asks into the walkie talkie mischievously.

"No. You have to at least wait until we reach the site, you already have four on your team compared to the three on ours." Yoongi leans close to the front seat to talk into the walkie talkie.

"But we have rapmon-hyung on our team. He might break the tent before we can build it." Jungkook says teasingly, letting out a giggle when Namjoon attacks him playfully.

"You little punk I'll-" Namjoon's voice is cut off by the Jungkook releasing the button. Making Taehyung and Jimin giggle.

The two teams were in charge of finding the campsite on their own along with setting up tents and their own fire as a race, then playing some games afterward. It was a simple episode the boys were looking forward to, relaxing under the stars after recording, but things didn't go as planned.

"Taehyung, stop!" Yoongi screams when he hears the car horn blaring, coming right at them.

Taehyung's eyes grew wide when he noticed what was happening, heart pounding in his chest, hitting the breaks as quickly as possible, but it was too late. A silver van slammed into the driver's side, pushing them into a blue car the next lane over.

The light turned green for him to go, but the silver van didn't stop for its red light. The airbags deployed, crushing Jimin and Taehyung into their seats, Yoongi holding onto the door handle as if his life depended on it in the back seat, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

The three boys sat in silence, in shock by the situation. Tears streamed down both Taehyung and Jimin's cheeks, but Yoongi didn't allow himself to shed any tears. He had to be strong for the younger ones. Come on. move.. He forced his body to obey him,his hands trembling as he unbuckles his seat belt so he could reach Jimin. Deep breathes.. At first, his vocal cords felt too tight to get any sound out, but hearing Taehyung's soft whimper made him try harder to calm down.

"Ji-jim-inie..TaeTae are are you okay?" Yoongi's voice comes out hardly over a whisper, coming out a few octaves higher and trembling. He felt the whiplash, causing his head to pound violently, reaching up to try to ease the pain in his neck. "Jimin.." He reached to touch Jimin's elbow.

Jimin jumps, letting out a whimper. "It..it hurts to breathe hyung.."

"Jimin you n-need to ta..take.." Yoongi tried to keep his own breathing under control, but still heard his own gasps of air come out, cutting off his speech. He felt lightheaded, but pushed through it, focusing on the task at hand. He reaches slowly to unbuckle the seat belt, releasing the strap from digging into Jimin, easing some of the pressure. "I..I'm okay.." He assured Yoongi with a weak smile before turning off the car and turning to Taehyung who's still frozen in fear. Hyung looks more scared than I am.. I need to handle Taehyungie for him..

"Taetae are you okay?" Jimin asks softly, trying to ease some of the burden off Yoongi. "Tae..answer me please.." He touches his shoulder, Taehyung letting out a whimper recovering from the shock enough to answer.

"I..I can't move my leg.." Taehyung felt a sharp pain when he tried to move, sucking air sharply through his teeth. "It hurts Jiminie.."

"Don't try to move it, Tae, don't move it might be broken.." Jimin orders him gently, taking a look for himself. He could see the car was smashed around it, pinning his foot.

"Are y..you okay, minie?" He asks, seeing the tears glistening in his eyes. "Is..is.." Taehyungs question is broken off by a breathless cough.

"I'll be okay, but I think Yoongi-hyung is really shaken up. We need to get a hold of the others.." Jimin whispers.

"I..I dro..dropped the..the..." Taehyung stutters over his words, stopping when he realizes he can't even catch his breath. He dropped the walkie-talkie to quickly grab the wheel with both hands in an attempt to swerve away. My lungs feel like they are burning...

Jimin reaches over to Taehyung, releasing his seat belt for him, then wiping the tears from his face. "Tae calm down.. It's okay..it's okay.. We're all alive, that's all that matters right now." He strokes Taehyung's hair.

"Taehyung-ah, how far away from the site are you guys?" The three boys hear the muffled sound of Jin's voice coming from the walkie talkie that slid under the seat.

Yoongi pulls out his phone to call him into the phone. "Hyung we got hit.." Yoongi speaks quickly to avoid stuttering out the word.

"What? What? Are you okay?" Jin asks, voice thick with worry.

As soon as Jin asks, the tears he tries so hard to hold back finally break through. "I'm scared, Hyung.." His voice cracks. "B..but I'm okay.."

"It's okay to be scared.. just take a deep breath for me, okay?"

Yoongi nods slightly, trying to take a deep breath, but a whimper comes out instead. His heart was beating loud in his ears, and no matter how many breaths he took, it didn't feel like any oxygen was getting into his lungs.

"Yoongi, Yoongi, listen to me, listen to me, I need you to just focus on my voice, okay? Just focus on me.." Jin fights to get Yoongi's attention again. "Yoongi what's your favorite song right now?"

Yoongi tries to recall the song, it giving his mind a distraction from the situation, but his mind goes blank. "I..i can't remember.."

"What was the last song you listened to?" Hoseok adds in the conversion, trying to catch his attention.

"We..we were jus..just listening..to.. to Bruno Mars b..before you guys..bebeeped in.." Yoongi's voice came out in quick gasps in-between his sentences.

"What song was it?" Jin keeps the conversation going, asking him about everything and anything. If he saw the newest episode of the drama that they were watching, what they should eat for dinner, what was his favorite character from reservoir dogs. He kept asking the first thing to pop into his head until the sound of the ambulance and police cars were right on them.

"Ah..the police are here.. I got to go.." Yoongi is calmed down by the time the sirens come talking normally again. "I'll call you back when we get settled in the hospital.."

Jimin gets out of the car to talk to the officers, leaning against the car. His chest ached, leaving him breathlessly gasping for air. A paramedic gets him on an oxygen tank, Yoongi getting out to join him, his knees threatening to give in. No, I don't have time for this.. Yoongi's eyes widen when he sees the damage, the anxiety and fear engulfing him once more. The whole driverside folded in, making the door unopenable, trapping the husky toned vocalist inside.

"{Is everyone okay? How many people were in the car?}" The officer speaks English, but Jimin couldn't process what he was asking, looking to Yoongi for help.

"{Three people car, I'm okay, but my brother can't get out. Stuck..hes stuck}" Yoongi tries to get his thoughts out clearly, but between the anxiety and language barrier, he just points to the door.

"{Help..}" Jimin speaks desperately when he remembered Taehyung couldn't get free. The officers followed their gaze, realizing the situation.

"{Don't worry we'll get him out. Just take some deep breaths. You're hyperventilating..}"

"Hyung I'll talk to them.. you try to calm down.. okay?" Jimin rubs his back, turning to the officer noticing the state Yoongi was in. His face lost all color and his eyes were dilated to look like two black holes. He didn't even know how he was standing with how badly he was trembling.

"Hyung..Jiminie.." The terrified cry of Taehyung got Yoongi's attention. Snapping him back to his senses.

I don't have time to let my emotions run wild like this..i need to calm Taehyungie.. Yoongi didn't take the time to catch his breath. Not when Taehyung was left alone in the car. He rushed to the driver's side to try to comfort the young vocalist.

Taehyung felt panicked being left alone, trying to free his foot, eyes watering from pain. When he heard the soft tapping of Yoongi on the car. "Hyungie.." His voice barely made it over a whisper, drowned out by the sirens. "I'm scared..."

Yoongi couldn't hear Taehyung, but he didn't have to. He knew Taehyung couldn't be calm being left alone, placing his hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him while they waited to cut him out.

"Ca..careful..there's glass.." Taehyung tells Yoongi when he sees him reaching for him.

"I don't care.. I can't sit here doing nothing.." Yoongi shifted all his focus on Taehyung. It was all he could do to keep his nerves under control. Everything will be fine.. everyone's alive.. Yoongi tried to comfort himself moving aside to let the firemen do their job.

"I found the room.." Namjoon's voice is heard in the hallway, the other members filling the room, rushing to see the other members.

"Hyung.." Jimin runs up to Namjoon as soon as he hears his voice wrapping his arms around him. "Taehyung-ah.. his leg is broken.."

"I know, I know.. I heard..." Namjoon strokes Jimin's back. "But Taehyung is still young, I'm sure it'll heal fine.. how is he?"

"He's really upset about it.. They're still working on the casting.. he's not talking much.. either is Yoongi hyungie.. he's hardly scatched like me, just some bruises and neck pain.. but he seems somewhere else.."

"Yoongi-hyung?" Namjoon steps in the room, going straight up to Yoongi, whose eyes are focused on something he doesn't see. "Hyung, are you okay?"

Yoongi blinks, looking at Namjoon. "Ah, Joon.. yeah, I just got a headache, and my chest hurts from the seat belt, but I'm free to go whenever.. I'm just worried about Tae. It's gonna take him a month to fully recover." He quickly takes the conversation off him, keeping his voice steady. Seeing Taehyung being put on the stretcher after they pried him out of the car was still fresh in his mind,his heart picking up.

"Are you sure you're okay, Yoon?"Jin asks, rubbing the back of his neck lightly. "You don't look well, maybe you should stay overnight just in case.."

"No, I want to go home. Jiminie is staying, though.." Yoongi tries again to avert the situation away from himself, Jin turning to Jimin. "What? Are you okay?"

"My neck still really hurts, they did x-rays and its fine, but they think I should stay. They said I can stay in the room with Taehyung.. it's easier for security that way." Jimin rubs the back of his neck, still feeling the whiplash.

"Try to take it easy. Go back to your bed Jiminie. Don't push it." Namjoon leads Jimin to bed, forcing him to lay back down

Taehyung is wheeled back into the room, his left leg now sporting a large purple cast that Taehyung is still staring at in disbelief. Three weeks without practice.. but we just got a new choreography.. and we have a concert next month.

"Taehyungie-hyungie it won't magically disappear." Jungkook says sympathetically, knowing what he was thinking. "You're the fastest at picking up choreography. You'll be able to learn it in time." Jungkook rubs Taehyung's shoulder, trying to comfort him.

"But what about formation? We need to practice so we don't bump into each other and get the timing right." Taehyung says miserably. "And.. and Jiminie and Yoongi-hyung will have to miss practice too.."

"We can figure it out when the time comes Tete, just focus on recovering for now, you look exhausted.." Hoseok kisses the top of his head. He could see the medicine the hospital gave him was kicking in, making Taehyung's eyelids grow heavy, his eyes constantly opening and closing as he fought his sleep. "Just sleep. I'll give you one on one lessons."

"Okay Hyungie.. im sorry Jiminie..Hyungie.." Taehyung yawns out the words. "I..I didn't react in time..:

"It's not your fault, don't be sorry..they ran the light not you. Don't blame yourself Taetae." Jimin tells him, but by the look in his soulmates eyes he knew he didn't believe it.

"Come on, lets go so they can get some sleep." Namjoon tries rallying up the members, but Jungkook was busy digging in his bag. "Kook what are you doing?"

"I put a marker in here yesterday..I can't..oh! There it is!" Jungkook triumphantly shows the black sharpie he found at the bottom of his bag, now doodling on Taehyung's cast.

He draws muscle Cooky, signing his name with a heart writing love you within it. "There, Cooky will help your leg heal faster!" Jungkook desperately wanted to see his youngest hyung smile, giving a big bunny grin when he sees Taehyung reach to touch his artwork with a smallest grin.

"Thanks, Junggukkkie." Taehyung gives the mankaes hand a squeeze, appreciating the effort to cheer him up."I love it."

"Tommorrow Hobi-hyungie will come draw you a picture, so look forward to it okay?" Jungkook gives a mischievous smile to Hoseok, who just looks bewildered at the sudden job he was given.

"What?" Hoseok questions, getting a laugh out of Jungkook and Jimin. "Alright, I'll think of something. Just rest up for now. Hyungie? Are you okay?" Hoseok looks at Yoongi who hasn't made any attempt to get up from the chair.

"Huh? Oh. I'm fine.. Yeah, I'm coming.." Yoongi blinks slowly standing up, quickly hugging Jimin and Taehyung, unsure on what he was asked. "Rest well boys.."

Jimin hardly hugs back, wincing at the movement, Taehyung leaning into him whispering a thank you.

The others do the same, wishing them to get well soon, but Yoongi doesn't notice the others leaving.

Hoseok takes Yoongi's hand, giving it a squeeze."It's time to go Hyung." He tells him gently. Yoongi isn't looking well.. but the hospital released him..

Yoongi doesn't pull away, security escorting the remaining five members to the two cars. He's hesitant to enter. It won't happen again. It's fine, I'm fine... He tried to reassure himself, cursing his legs for not moving forward.

"Something wrong Yoongi?" Jin asks with a concerned expression, rubbing Yoongi's shoulder.

"Ah, yeah, I just remembered I left something in the car earlier.." Yoongi lies, not wanting to worry the others. Not when two members were still in hospital beds. They had enough to stress about. Yoongi gets in, buckling up the second he takes a seat.

"Everything that was left in the car should be at the hotel staff booked. Your bag is safe." Namjoon tells him, but he knew thats not what the issue was.

"What happened to camping?" Yoongi felt sick as soon as the car started moving, nausea twisting his stomach, wrapping his arm around it.

"We decided to reschedule. No one would enjoy it,not without everyone there." Namjoon replies, surprised he'd even ask such a thing after what happened. "We managed to get three rooms last minute. Me and Jinnie-hyung will share a room, Hoba and Jungkookie will share a room and you'll get to rest in your own room.."

"I don't need my own room. Hyung should have it as the oldest." Yoongi didn't want to be alone, but he was too shy to ask someone to stay with him.

"No, it's okay." Jin turns down the offer."i don't mind sharing a room. Everyone will be scared to accidentally hurt you..Yoongi-yah.. are you okay?"

"My stomach hurts.. I think it's the car.." Yoongi tries to focus on the horizon, feeling the saliva pooling in his mouth.

"Poor thing.. do you think you'll be sick?" Jin asks gently, putting his hand on Yoongi's thigh.

Yoongi's reply was a wet burp, sending everyone in the car looking for a bag for him, Jin finding one in the pocket of the car. "Here Yoongi..just in case.." He holds it open for him, not surprised when he sees the kimchi fried rice from breakfast fill the bag.

" 'm sorry Hyung.." Yoongi says as another painful ripple pushes up more, clutching the bottom of Jin's shirt.

"Why are you sorry? It's okay.. you're fine baby.." Jin makes sure the plastic bag stays wide open to be sure nothing misses. "You can't help it if you're feeling sick.."

Namjoon keeps Yoongi's bangs away from his face. "We're almost there Hyung..we'll get you to bed.."

Yoongi really wished he insisted that Jin should've got his own room because he was the oldest, cursing his body for ruining his chance.

Yoongi was hopelessly awake at 3:46 in the morning, just staring at the alarm clock next to him, watching the digital numbers change.

Everytime I close my eyes I can see hear Taehyungie's panicked voice, or see Jiminie's tear stained face.. Yoongi sighs, wincing when he turns over to face away from the clock instead of waiting for 3:47 to come. "They're fine.." he whispers to himself, throwing the pillow over his face, trying once more to give his body the rest it desperately needed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~skip to avoid blood~~~~~~~~~~~

"Watch out!" The scream of Hoseok echos in the car, the flashing of headlights leaving Yoongi blinded. The blaring of a horn and the clashing of metal on metal follows, Yoongi jolting forward. It was him that was driving this time. When swirves, the red car doesn't even attempt to avoid them, slamming directly into the side of the car. Yoongi let's out a scream when he looks back to check on J-hope seeing him unconscious, blood dripping from his head.

"Hoba..Hoba...!" Yoongi tries to get to him, but he's unable to move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoongi wakes up completely drenched in sweat, looking around the room in frenzied panic. Where's my phone..? Where is it? I need him.. i need to hear Hobi's voice.. He fumbles to find the lamp switch in the dark, finding his phone and quickly calling Hoseok.

"Mm...?" Hoseok was hardly awake, his voice only coming out as a soft grunt, but it was enough for Yoongi.

"Hoba.. I just w..w..wanted to he..hear yo..your voice..go back to sleep.." Yoongi let out the breath he was holding to even hear Hoseok yawning sleepily.

"Who is it...?" Hoseok speaks slowly into the phone, not even processing the panic in Yoongi's voice. Yoongi takes a few deep breaths before talking again, trying to steady his trembling voice before he woke up Hoseok This was stupid.. it was just a bad dream..

"Don't worry.. go back to sleep.." Yoongi doesn't hang up the phone though, finding comfort in hearing Hoseok's steady breath on the other end, lulling him back to sleep.

Hoseok wakes up to his phone alarm clock, jumping when he hears it blaring right by his ear. "Aiish! I thought I had it on the desk.. huh?" He looks at his phone with bewilderment. Why have I been on the phone with yoongi for three hours?

"What's wrong hyungie?" Jungkook asks with yawn.

"I think Yoongi-hyung called me in his sleep."

At first Hoseok thought nothing of it. It wouldn't be the first time Yoongi fell asleep with his phone in his hands, all it would take was a slip of his thumb to call him, but as he was getting ready to leave he heard his phone vibrate three times.

Did you hear a scream last night? I think it was Yoongi-hyung.

Namjoon makes a separate chat room leaving the deagu rapper out of it.

I didn't hear anything, but me and Hobi-hyungie and I were farther away from his room..

Jungkook replies looking at Hoseok. "Check the new chat."

I slept with headphones in. Namjoon was snoring.

Jin replies.

You think you heard him screaming? I woke up being on call with him this morning..

Hoseok sends to the chat, biting on his bottom lip. Did he actually mean to call me last night? Did I fall asleep on him?

Yoongi knocks on Hoseok's door. "Hoba, Jungkookah, are you ready to go?"

Hoseok opens the door, pulling Yoongi into the room to examine him. Is he pallor than usual? "Good morning, Yoongi-hyung. Did you sleep well?"

"It was hard falling asleep. Couldn't get comfy." Yoongi didn't want to talk about his dreams. He already felt better after seeing Hoseok safe and sound. Yoongi smoothes down his bed head.

"I packed last night except for my toiletries. I just got to brush my teeth. Are you sure you're okay Hyung?" Hoseok didn't mind Yoongi's sudden affection, but something about his touch felt needy.

"I said im fine. Don't worry about me worry about yourself. You still owe Taehyungie a drawing." Yoongi switched subjects, not wanting to pull up the dark memories.

"Oh right, did you decide what you'll draw on Taehyungie-hyungie's cast Hobi-hyung?" Jungkook asks, taking the hint.

"Aiish.. I totally forgot about that! I'll just wing it.." Hoseok starts running ideas through his mind as he brushed his teeth. Maybe he's just in pain and im reading too much into it.. Hoseok drops it, but not before messaging the others to keep an eye on him.

Yoongi presses his forehead to the window, watching the clouds go by. Even after sleeping a couple of hours before, he was riddled with bad dreams. It felt like he didn't sleep at all. Each turn of the car made his stomach queasy, rubbing his stomach to try to ease the pain.

Again? Why...? I even took medicine before I left the hotel..

"Hyung, are you okay?" Hoseok rubbed his shoulder gently, giving him a worried expression.

"Just car sick..but not too bad this time.. I just want to go home and lay down for a bit.." Yoongi wished he'd just give in and tell them, but seeing Jimin dozing on Jungkook's shoulder and thinking about Taehyung in the other car he kept his mouth shut.

Hoseok makes gentle circles on Yoongi's stomach, trying to ease the nausea for him, smiling when he heard Yoongi take a deep sigh. "Try to sleep Hyungie.. I'll wake you when we get home.."

Yoongi wishes once more, that he told someone about his dreams when he finds himself bolting up right, gasping for air when another awful scenario playing in his mind, this time it is Taehyung who's badly injured, unable to ever walk again.

Yoongi holds his chest, taking deep breaths to try to ease the painful throbbing of his accelerating heart rate. "It's just a dream.. he's fine..he'll be fine.." Yoongi tried to convince himself, but the dream still lingered. He had to go see Taehyung. Just a peek in the room to ease his troubled mind.

"F*ck..." Yoongi swears underneath his breath as a wave of vertigo hits as he tries to stand, quickly sitting back down on the bed again, holding his head in his hands as he waits for it to pass. The dream left him feeling feverish and sick to his stomach.

Yoongi pushes his body to move forward, staying close to the wall in case the dizziness returns, making his way to Taehyung's room, cracking the door open as slowly as possible.

Yoongi saw Taehyung’s sleeping figure on the bed, hugging a pillow to his chest. He steps in a little farther, just close enough to see the outline of his face. See? He's not in a hospital room.. he's home.. he's okay.. this is stupid.. nothing will change..

Yoongi slowly backs out of the room, unaware that the mankae he visited wasn't asleep. As soon as Yoongi latches the door shut again, he uses the new chat to tell the others.

Yoongi-hyung just went into my room, checked up on me and left.. His breathing sounded off to me..

No one replies until the morning, Jin being the first.

Something is wrong, but he doesn't want to tell anyone. We'll need to think of a plan..

Taehyung had already thought of one. It was his fault they got into the accident. He had to fix it. He was fine before the accident.. if only I waited a little longer..

Please help me with an idea..

Yoongi wakes up covered in sweat once more, going into the shower to wash up, splashing water into his face, grimacing when he sees his reflection in the mirror.When will I become too tired to dream?

Yoongi lets the water run on him to try to ease his sore muscles. It's quiet in the house.. it must be because Jiminie and Taehyungie are still asleep.

Yoongi hears the sound of Taehyung’s scream on his way to the kitchen, rushing into the room to check on him.

"Taehyungie what's wrong?!" Yoongi rushes to the bed side, but Taehyung didn't answer. His face was buried in his hands, breathing heavily.

"Taehyung, Taehyung look at me.. it's okay...It's okay.." Yoongi strokes his hair, trying to calm him.

Taehyung leans his head on his shoulder, two tears rolling down his cheek. "I..I'm scared.."

"It's just a dream.. I got you.." Yoongi wraps his arm around the young vocalist, wiping Taehyung’s tears with his thumb.

"What do I do...? I'm scared it'll happen again.." Taehyung buried his face inside Yoongi's shoulder, breathing in his freshly showered scent.

"I don't know. I'm in the same position.." Yoongi admits, feeling the weight lifting off his shoulders to tell someone.

Taehyung tilts his head to the side, looking up at him with feigned innocence. Yoongi usually would've seen past his acting. Would've noticed his tears stopped too quickly. It made Taehyung worry more. "You too? About the accident?"

"Kinda.. it's just.. you guys are getting hurt and there's nothing I can do.." Yoongi's voice comes out soft, threatening to crack as the memory tries returning, shaking his head to try to clear the memory away.

"It's okay, Hyung, you don't have to talk about it.." Taehyung pushes Yoongi's bangs from his face to get a better look at him, eyes widening when he feels the heat from his forehead. "Can..you cuddle with me a little? Or maybe we can just hold hands? Until I fall back to sleep?"

Yoongi would usually reject, but when he sees the worried expression on Taehyung's face, he gives in, laying down on the youngers chest. He's scared he'll have another bad dream.. Maybe this will be good for both of us..

"Thank you Hyungie.." Taehyung wraps his arms around Yoongi, lightly running his fingers across Yoongi's back, tracing the his shoulder blades.

"Thank you for asking.." Yoongi's voice comes out lower and slow as he starts to drift asleep, feeling his body relaxing against Taehyung, listening to his heart beating.

"Go to sleep Hyungie, you can stay with me in my room as long as you need." Taehyung whispers, smiling when he feels Yoongi's body go limp, already fast asleep.

Taehyung reaches for his phone, messaging the group chat.

It worked.. Yoongi is asleep in my room.. I'll need some fever reducers..

[morgana-ren]

*Oh boy. Like this community needed another bite night scene. Mostly just playing with the idea of a secretive, "modest" paladin OC. I'm not super great at building tension (normal or sexual flavor) so any notes you have feel free.

Face to Face

He's definitely staring at her again.  She can feel it.

She'd like to say it's her Divine Sense. Granted, the tadpole had definitely left her weaker than before. Her Divine Sense was practically nonexistent when she first awoke on the beach. Her pool of healing was the smallest she could remember it ever being. No, she could not honestly say this was a warning from Him.

The pale elf had made a particularly bad first impression having abused her Oath and held her at knife point. She shrugged the conflict off shortly afterwards, playing the part of the ever forgiving Ilmatari and the honor bound Paladin. After all, they were only so recently all abducted and...violated  by Ilithid monsters. They were all vulnerable.

Still.

Forgiving the transgression and forgetting that was his first instinct were two entirely different things. Tav was kind, but she was no fool. Astarion may believe differently but that mattered little to her.

No, the itch in her skin was all her. One didn't need a sign from God to see that Astarion was not a good man. Though she could not yet say he was an entirely evil man either.

With a deep sigh that echoed from within her helm, Tav turned to look at the elf. Instead of looking caught rudely staring , he suddenly straighten up and smiled as if having finally been noticed by an inattentive servant. Still he said nothing.  The paladin gave it a few more beats before asking.

"...Can I help you?"

"You know..." he raises a finger to his chin innocently enough.  "I just realized we've been traveling together for days now and...I've yet to see your face. I'm curious. "

Nonsense....was what she wanted to say. Yet, she could not honestly do so.  So she said nothing. 

"I don't even see you take it off to eat. You take your meals elsewhere I've noticed.  Are you going out of your way? Are you..." he lets out a theatric little gasp. "Are you hiding something, darling? "

"You also take your meals away from the group. Are you?" He seems slightly offended by that.

" I've seen you sleep fully armored up against a tree."

"Lae'zel also does that. "

The githyaki ahead of them glances back at the mention of her name, narrowing her eyes before returning to her marching. Wyll, who had just been casually talking himself, glanced back with her. 

"Doing okay back there? "

Astarion smiled and answered with a confident "Of course!" and a flourish of his hands. Tav gave a simple nod.

Wyll raised an eyebrow and returned his attention to Lae'zel. Astarion returned his to Tav. He lowers his voice an octave. His voice is smooth and...admittedly suave.

"So. What are you hiding under all that armor?"

Her embarrassingly red face for one.

Tav scolds herself for blushing like some virginal acolyte from the convents. She could bury herself in as much plate and mail as she could stand to carry but the moment her light, lilting tone echoed out from beneath her helm people became curious. She disliked the attention.

"Skin. Bones. Blood."

He chuckles into his hand at that.

"I mean,  what do you look like under all that metal, darling? You have such a... sweet voice. "

"Hideous."

He raised an eyebrow. He wasn't expecting that.

"Oh? Is that true?" Tav sighed. Perhaps sharing the parameters of her Oath with the group was a tad misguided.

Irritating man.

"...I'm hideous by someone's standards, I'm sure.  Right, Lae'zel?"

The githyanki doesn't even turn around this time.  The one occasion Tav actually wants to hear her disparaging remarks. Wyll sneaks a look back, trying and failing to not look curious himself. These people are a trial from the higher plane, nothing could convince her otherwise. 

Tav thanks the Broken God when Lae'zel calls the group's attention away from her and to some carrion along the road. 

---------

Holy water. She needs to make holy water.

Tav wondered if she'd be able to perform the ceremony necessary with the current tadpole situation. The rest of the hike to camp was tense. The knowledge there was some undead creature lurking in the forest  near their camp left the group quiet.  Even that Astarion fellow seemed put off by the discovery of the poor, drained boar. Once they arrived the whole camp quietly discussed their findings. Tav added little to the conversation. Choosing instead to contemplate.

It made little sense to her.  Vampires didn't just wander the countryside. They needed places to hide from the sun when it rose,  thinking creatures to feed from,  vampire covens nested in cities where there were plenty of both.  However the creature came to be here, the truth of the matter was that it was stalking around out there and quite possibly desperate if it was feeding from wildlife...

Tav once again feels her skin itch and looks up to catch Astarion nonchalantly walking towards her.  He's been noticeably quiet since their return, as well.

"You've been awfully quiet..." he makes a show of dropping his shoulders and pouting. "You see, this is why I didn't want to say anything! You're all...tied up in knots, poor thing. "

"Just thinking. Do not worry yourself. "

"Thinking about?"

"You."

He freezes for a moment and cocks his head at her. ".... Really? Darling, I'm flattered. "

She chuckles a little at that.  "Don't be.  It was a joke." He huffs at her as if offended but visibly relaxes.

"How funny. Well, I'll be keeping watch tonight so you don't worry your pretty little...tin head."  He gave her helm a light tap with his knuckle with the last part. No doubt a little barb to remind her he hadn't been completely distracted form their earlier conversation. Irritating man.

She gives him a silent nod of acknowledgment and begins gathering materials. He doesn't immediately go away and, judging by how much her skin itched, hadn't stopped staring either. She gets up to fetch water without a word and returns without him even acknowledging she had ever left.  He almost seems a little awkward hovering over her like that.  It was actually beginning to amuse her a little.

"Can I help you? " She doesn't bother looking up.

"Going to take a bath? I'm sure you're rather ripe after spending the last few days baking in all that metal." He makes a rather foppish gesture as he says it, hovering closer than she liked. Not that telling him such ever did anything.

"I'm going to make this water Holy."

He stills at that.  Perhaps the reality of the situation is dawning on him. As vicious as he seems, he's still just some noble from Baldur's Gate. She almost feels sorry for the fellow.

"It's just in case. Don't you worry. " she says quietly. 

"... You're not worried? "

"No. I'm not."

She dips her fingers in the now holy water and flicks it at him. He jerks back so quickly she fears she might have gone too far. He looks momentarily startled but quickly clears his throat and straightens his jacket. Tav was thankful he couldn't see the smile it brought to her face. He reminded her of some sort of fancy cat trying to avoid getting wet.

"You said you were taking watch tonight? " She asks. He nods. "I'll sleep better for that.  Thank you. " she says sincerely. He gives her a tight lipped grin.

"Good. Sweet dreams, darling. "

Tav usually sleeps like the dead.  Having traveled for so long with the Order, she was used to sleeping anywhere and everywhere.  Between strange dreams, she feels something pull her awake. She's slow to realize the gentle pull she feels is her helm slowly being pulled from her head. The moment it clicks into place, she jerks awake and looks straight at the offender.

"....Shit." the perpetrator pulls away from her the moment she looks up.

Astarion.

The unbelievable nerve of this pompous, entitled ass! There are tadpoles in their brains. They're stranded up the Sword Coast. There's a God's forsaken vampire lurking about and he thinks to pull a stunt like this. For what? To see her face? She could've killed him! In what world-

"No, no! It's not what it looks like! " Tav stood straight up at that and he followed. He looks nervous. He should be.  "I wasn't going to hurt you! I- I just needed....well, blood." He finally admits, sounding defeated. Tav goes completely still with this admission.

By the Broken Lord, how did she not see it?

His deep, red eyes.  The polite tight lipped smiles to hide what are now quite obviously very sharp fangs. She thought his picky eating was a quirk of his noble pedigree. His pale skin from having never worked in the sun a day in his life. She had assumed so much. She curses herself for doing so. Curses her Divine Sense for failing her.  Failing this group.

She won't fail now. 

She quickly grabs for a weapon but Astarion is just as quick.  He slaps it from her hands indignantly.

"Oh no, there's no need for that!"

Astarion tries his best to look proud, even under the faceless gaze of the paladin's helm.

"I'm not a monster! I only feed on animals,  I swear!  Deer, boars, kobolds.I need to hunt but I'm... just too weak right now. If I only had a little blood,  I could fight better.  Think clearer! I only needed a taste. I promise....please? "

Tav hesitated at that. Vampires were powerful, charming undead creatures.  Tav never heard of one politely asking for blood. She also never heard of them walking in daylight.

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

He looks at her like she'd spoken in tongues. "Why would I tell an Ilmatari Paladin? What could I say?  I feared you'd chase me away or drive a stake through my ribs. No. I needed you to trust me. And you can!  Trust me. Please. "

In that moment, they're both reminded of their tadpole stowaways. They both wince with a sudden foreign wriggle behind the eye.  A twinge of forced sympathy connects them. Tav feels sick with fear, hunger, and shame. Astarion has a look of resigned distrust, perhaps expecting her to capitalize on the situation. Simply bracing for whatever she has planned.

He is undead. Unholy. She should run him through. Strike him down. Yet.

Yet, he has been feeding on animals. He asked to join this group. While he complains near constantly, he's proven capable and willing to help them survive. He has obviously not charmed anyone. Save for Wyll, the group could hardly stand him most days. No children from the grove have gone missing. No one has awoken with holes in their neck. Was he an incorrigible ass? Yes. Was he a monster? Tav was much less sure. 

"....I do. " she says quietly.

Astarion perks up at this.  Surprised and unsure how to proceed. They hear one of their group suddenly choke on a snore and both freeze in place. When the moment passes and there's no more noise the two both relax. Astarion swallows before continuing.

"Good. Do you think... you could trust me a little more? "

The audacity of this man.  Honestly. 

Tav crosses her arms in warning.  Astarion looks up waryily at her for a moment before doubling down. 

"We don't have a choice! I need you alive and you need me strong. " he catches himself and softens his tone.  "....Please? It'll only be a taste. I swear. "

Tav stares into his eyes from beneath her helm. Blood red. She shames herself again for not noticing his unholy nature sooner. Her chest aches whenever he looks at her with those...eyes. She's gone out of her way to avoid his gaze. She knew he was... dangerous when she first looked into those eyes but it wasn't until now realizes truly why. 

With the feelings from their brief connection lingering in the back of her mind, Tav found it harder to steel herself.  The longer she looked at his face, somewhere between pleading and begrudging, the less she saw a monster and the more she saw...well, Astarion.

Irritating man.

Tav sighs and reaches up for her helm.  Astarion looks confused before his eyes widen in realization.  She was agreeing.

"Not a drop more than you need."

She wants to cringe at how different her voice sounds. What little the metallic echo of her helm did to roughen her voice was completely lost. It was difficult to be imposing or commanding when you look and sound as she did.  She felt vulnerable.

"O-of course! I'll be as gentle as a lamb." He slips back to his usual posh tone so easily,  she almost forgets what she's agreeing to.

Almost.

Thankfully, Astarion keeps his expression unreadable.  She watches his eyes dart around her face, taking in every detail. She keeps her eyes trained on him while standing stiff as a board. Daring him to say something.  He cautiously approaches the paladin, as if she'd change her mind and run him through at any moment.  When she was finally close enough to touch, he gently reaches a hand up to touch her face. She slaps the hand away with no resistance. He's not the least bit offended. If anything, it only seems to amuse him.

"Let's make ourselves more comfortable, shall we?"

Tav feels her exposed face grow unbearably hot. She feels the situation is quickly slipping out of her control. He gently presses his fingertips into her shoulder and she practically jumps in the opposite direction.  He smirks at her reaction. A little tit for tat for the holy water earlier that night. He begins herding her towards the ground. The paladin resists.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He shushes her like a spooked animal. "Darling, I think it best if you lie down for this."

Tav sighs in annoyance and defeat. She lays back down into her bedroll, closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to ground herself. She realizes the ache in her chest has been replaced with a rapid drumming. She places her hands against her pounding chest and lies there like she's awaiting her last rites. When she feels Astarion fall to his knees beside her, she opens her eyes to the sight of him over her. Her entire body somehow goes both unbelievably hot and worryingly cold. She wants to brings her hands up to his chest and push him away.  Ask for time to think about it.  To reflect. To pray.  She knows she should.  Yet, when he leans in close and she feels his weight hovering over her, his breath against her neck, she is lost. It was too late. 

He strikes so fast it takes a second for her to register what had happened.  It was like a shared of ice in her neck.  A sudden sharp stab that bloomed into a dull throbbing. Her heart somehow begins to beat even harder. She can almost feel every inch of her skin light up beneath him. She was suddenly very aware of every inch of his body and how close it was to her. She felt his mouth against her neck and realized she could feel him drinking from her. Consuming her.  The realization sent her head spinning. She begins to squirm against him and lets out an humiliating whine when she feels his hands press her down in response. It's just too much. Overwhelmed, Tav tries to say enough but her mouth is shut tight, terrified of what other noise might come out. She tries to take deep breaths to calm herself, but they quickly devolve into ragged pants. When she feels the chill begin to creep up her body she knows this has to stop.

"A-astarion."

He didn't stop. In fact, he seems to be getting more lost in her as each moment passes.

Tav tries not to panic. 

" E-enough. Stop. I need you to stop."

She manages to press her hands up into him this time and feels him jerk back into the moment.  He releases her with a gasp. Leaning over her a few moments longer as he collects himself.

Despite having successfully detached the vampire with blood to spare, Tav was as tightly wound as ever. Her eyes still closed, she focuses on the sound of his panting over her, feeling even warmer than before. When she hears a breathy chuckle escape him she opens her eyes to see him genuinely smiling, her still warm blood dripping from his mouth.  A feeling she doesn't wholly recognize washes over her body and she swears she feels her heart miss a few beats. This should disgust her. She should flinch at the sight. Yet.

He distracts her from her turmoil when he finally does gets up. He's quick to stand over her, and Tav can't help but feel even more vulnerable because of it. Unable to do anything else,  Tav simply manages to sit up and look at him. 

"Gods, that... that was amazing. I never realized..." he's still composing himself as he speaks.  "I feel so strong. Confident! ...Happy."

Strangely enough, this actually made the Ilmatari feel somewhat better about the decision.

There is a noticeable difference in him now.  Tav wonders how long he'd gone without before tonight.  How long he'd been going without when she met him. He looks healthy. She didn't think him a corpse when they met, but seeing him now made her realize just how dead he looked before. 

He finally looks over at her to catch her staring. Still dazed, Tav doesn't look away.  She just continues to study this new Astarion. He studies this new Tav in turn. Without looking away,  he wipes the blood from his chin and licks it from his hand. Tav can't seem to bring herself to look away either.  He lets out a contented sigh when he finishes the last drop.  Tav feels herself swallow with him.  He chuckles in that low tone Tav hates.

"Well, darling.  You are invigorating, but I need to find myself something a little more...filling."

Tav simply nods. While Astarion has recovered himself better than ever before, Tav still sits dazed on her bedroll without words.  He seems to hesitate a moment when he turns to leave.  Perhaps suddenly feeling some obligation. Tav waves him off.

"I...look forward to seeing you in a fight now. "

He laughs.  "Won't be long.  So many people need killing and now I can fight with all my weapons." He flashes her a smile with no fear of showing his fangs. It's new. She has to keep herself from smiling back. 

"Now, if you'll excuse me."

She nods her head to him and he gives a courtly bow.  It earns a chuckle out of her.  His dangerous smile widens even further. He turns to leave but stills for a moment with his back turned to her. 

"....Thank you, by the way. "

With that Tav watches him stalk confidently into the night. No longer trying to save what little face she has,  Tav collapses back into her bedroll.  Her head is now swimming and her heart still racing.  She clumsily removes her glove and traces her fingers along the punctures in her neck.  She drifts off with one hand on her neck and the other over the dull ache in her chest.

[allywritesforfun]

Hi! Could I ask for some Wilbur headcanons with a reader who is also a singer? If you don't feel comfortable with this request just ignore it, and have a good day!(◍•ᴗ•◍)❤ (Neutral pronouns please)

yesss thank you so much for requesting! this is exactly what I needed to get back into the groove! you better have a better day than me!

Wilbur Soot x gn!singer!Reader Headcanons

regular masterlist

wilbur masterlist

headcanon masterlist

before you met Wilbur, you only sang to yourself and to your friends

Wilbur overheard you singing in a park one day and just knew that he had to talk to you

"your voice is really beautiful, but not as beautiful as you"

you guys talked for a while and he showed you some of his songs

you absolutely loved them and started singing an octave higher to harmonize

"c-can you come in to my studio and record that?"

just like that you two were connected by hip

the rest of Lovejoy wasn't surprised when you and Wilbur made it official

I mean, you were there long before recording started and well after

Wilbur is pretty picky with his guitar...

...you were the only one allowed to mess around with it

you loved to watch wilbur play his guitar

he would play it more than usual when you were around

he just really waned to impress you

you never became an official member of Lovejoy, but you loved to put your opinion into songs

"Wil, you need to put this into a different key, the tone is all off"

"y/n, I really love you and your opinions, but the key is staying"

it didn't take long for chat to figure out that Wilbur got a new significant other

he was always so smily and giggly on streams

his attitude could not have gone unnoticed

you ofc wanted to stream with him

and in reality he just wanted to show off the fact he has a significant other who can sing like a god

you always helped him out with music streams and sometimes sang on them too

your favorite stream to date is the car pool stream

just you and Wilbur, jamming out to your and your friends songs

singing each other to sleep when one of you were having a bad day? I think so

[enjeolmii]

10 questions - p.sh

synopsis: to ask questions isn't too bad. but to end up doing something you never expected from the intention behind every question? way better!

genre: fluff, slightly suggestive

word count: 2.4k

warnings: make out sesh (not written in depth), lots of teasing but it’s all playful you nasty

"Next question! Did you like anyon-"

"Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing? I'm supposed to go next." Sunghoon blocks you with an audible tap on the soft mattress, tsk-ing at your smooth but not slick enough scheme to get more answers from him.

It's a Saturday - the day of the week when assignments, works, chores, and duties are temporarily thrown down the window. On these days, you and Sunghoon go on a carefree date. It's a routine you made once a week to maintain your relationship amidst the setback caused by lockdown, and it was going great.

At a time when real interactions between people became an inappropriate thing to do, and everyone turned to technology as a resolution, you made sure that everything is done by Friday, despite it being so dreading, just so that procrastinating wouldn't be a problem dragged over the next day. And when those pressuring times occur to you, you would send each other texts, exhorting to go easy on yourselves. That's why Saturdays are the only thing you wait for every week. You weigh it up as a chance to see the only light that keeps you going, the one that helps you see clearly the path you are taking in this obscure world.

So here you are with Sunghoon in your bedroom, sitting on the bed and leaning on the wall beside it, covered in your blanket as you cuddle under the warm, comfy covers. The day has been an uneventful one. If not for him reminding you of the conversation you had prior in the week, where you asked him to gather questions he had for you, you would have slept the whole day over without accomplishing anything.

"Fine, what's your eighth question?" You admit, frowning at his attentive remark, and he snickers.

He lifts his phone and scrolls through the questions he has saved in his notes. "Have you ever had a dream about me?"

Your eyes roll around with a finger on your chin, recalling the scenarios you had of him. There were many, some surrounding the time when he decided to confess to you, and most of them came from the fantasies you had of him. Those dreams scare you more than the stare of a fiery lion. It almost even feels illegal to think about it because you aren't well over twenty. Though they were just outlines of you and him kissing innocently, you always end up making out at the end of the story.

You weren't one of those twelve-year-olds who've had their first kisses already. Your mother kept a close eye on you in situations like this, so you would rather make out with your pillow than hear her nagging your ears off. Because of that, you grew up as a child unbothered by her love life, and the mere thought of kissing someone in real life makes your hair stand up. That's when you knew he brought out a lot of changes in you.

You swallow the lump of saliva in your throat. "Yeah, I have." You answer truthfully but still cautious of the words you put out.

"Really?" His head perks in your direction. "What did I do?"

You got a little nervous knowing he would undoubtedly interrogate you on this. But thankfully, you were prepared with a streamlined answer. "That's three questions, genius," You say, reaching for his head to give it a light smack, from which earns you a groan. "Save your chances for better questions."

"What do you mean? It's a good one. What did you dream about? I want to know."

"Okayy~ Next question. Where is that..." You switch the topic hastily, hands occupied with finding the question you were waiting to ask him through your notes. "Found it. Did you like anyone before me? If so, who are they?"

"That's two questions, though?"

"Nope. Not if you put them together." You smile at him cheekily, and he throws his head back in astonishment, mouth wide open, spewing out breathy wow's.

"You're playing it dirty, I see. Well, I had two other girlfriends before you." He brings his pinky finger out. "One was my sixth-grade classmate, and the other one was my best friend from the rink." He shoots his mouth off to chaff at you yet again.

A stiff frown crawls on your face as you nod at him sarcastically. "Oh, wow. Impressive." You hum in wonderment, silence unfurling in the suddenly insipid room.

Sunghoon knew you weren't easily irritated by these circumstances. If he were talking to a random girl on the street, more often than not, you would only think of them as one of his fans from the arena, nothing more. Even if he had to accomplish things with a girl in his class, you trusted him very much with your relationship to doubt him in his actions. And so, seeing you hush after a talk like this...

Of course, he would take it as a chance to play with you.

"Aww, is my precious little y/n jealous?" His voice sharpened one octave higher as he pats your head with a pout and mock sadness in his eyes. "What do I do? I kissed them, too."

You were okay with him having two other ones before you, but at the mention of a kiss, your figure skews his way. You weren't sure if he was hoaxing you or not, but to say so honestly, it troubled you. This wasn't the intention you had with your question. All you wanted to get out of it was something to tease him about when he says he has none, yet it was still you who got ragged of your own query.

However, that's beside the point. Was it necessary to point out those last words? It wasn't you to be agitated over something as dispensable as this, but of all things, why did he have to attack your weakness?

Sunghoon's sounds of laughter tear you away from your thoughts. "Got 'em~" He pulls a finger at you in another fit of laughter, seeing you in a state of total shock.

"What the heck? It was a lie?" You pull away firmly from his body, hitting him on the shoulder with force enough to make him wobble on the bed.

"You fell for it." He provokes you, head bouncing up and down in silent titters, and you smack his hand away, leaning back down on his shoulder.

"No, I didn't," You feel him nod abut your head, seeing mentally what teasing expression he has plastered on his face this time, but you only shrug it off. "Which part was the lie, though? You kissing them or being with them?"

"Can't answer that. Save your chances for better questions, cutie."

"Touché," You scoff. "What's the next question?"

"Well, since we came to the topic of kissing... When was your first kiss?" He converts his stare to a peer of glistening fervour. Though not as subtle as he would have probably wished it to be, you could sense the perceptive intent he was hiding behind his tone.

You render motionless. Never did you tell him anything about your dreams, nor would you ever have plans to tell him. It's a product of your wildest imaginations to feed your untold desires. It's what helps restrain the ungodly in you, but it also fuels you with the need to see what it actually is like. It's a continuous internal war going on in you, its purpose being to stop you from creating trouble for yourself. And now that you finally have him here, not going to lie, it's kind of embarrassing to acknowledge the profuse amount of dreams you had of him, moreover that he stole your first kiss... Except it was in your dreams, literally.

"I never had any," You answer, trying to stay as cool as possible. "I'm a good child who listens well to her mother, so don't think no one tried to hit on me once. I turned a lot of them down." A small smile trudges its way onto his face, but the way his eyes were fixated on you remained untypically the same.

"I don't know if I should be happy that you picked me out of all of them or be sad for those 'poor hearts' you broke." He draws an air quote along with his words, and you shake your head at him. "Don't worry. I won't tease you on this one. I just wanted to know." He mumbles quietly through a simper, moving to rest his head on yours.

Hearing that he'll cut you some slack relieved you, but one thing about his utterance caught you off guard. "Why do you want to know that?"

"That's the only way I'll get to know you deeper, Einstein," He retracts his head and nudges you on his shoulder, causing you to bump your head against its edge, a grunt following you. However, while you were still in the midst of justifying the whack he did on your head, he spins his vision to you in an adventitious celebration. "Oh- that's your tenth question, then!"

"Wait, hold on!" You haul over to straighten your posture, the creaking of the bed barely audible from the loudness of your opposition.

"It's my turn again." His eyes grow invisible from his cheeks, pushing it up into a smile. He just never gets tired of making fun of you. How you wish you could do the same to him. If only punching someone straight in the face denotes no wrongdoing, you would have done that ages ago.

"Bitch, why did you answer that?" You call him, blaming him with the irritation that you weren't able to control yourself.

"You ask, I answer. Isn't that how it goes?" He grins at you matter-of-factly, and you tousle your hair around in frustration.

"Ugh, you're crazy," You send glares up his way. "Whatever. Your last question, throw."

As if that was a signal he has been waiting for, Sunghoon shuts his phone and tucks it in his pocket. "How does it feel to kiss someone?"

You were confused. You just said you've never kissed anyone before.

A dry giggle leaves your mouth after much processing. You knew you shouldn't have trusted his words. No matter what you do, he'll find the cracks and holes to slip in his every jest. "I think you got the wrong person, kid. How do you think I'd know?"

"Hmm..." He drones, the ticking sound of the clock suddenly increasing in volume with every minute passing by. "Should we try it, then?" He suggests.

"What?" You were taken aback, a sudden chill sweeping through your body like a surge of cool air gashing through the enclosed room. What is he going on about?

Inch by inch, you feel him gravitate towards you, your torso backing up from his inclining frame until the warmth you caused on the cold wall completely presses against your back. Like the fire of a gun's bullet on a steady path, your heartbeat raced in a trice. His eyes stared at yours, tracing down to your parted lips as he led his other hand across your body, trailing up your arms to your shoulders, just until it reaches your jaw. Your breath hitched, lips shutting tightly as you gulp down at the presence of his queer boldness.

It's like the scenarios you formed in your head where he pins you against the wall, lips hovering yours with soft breaths that tickle your skin. Him studying your face with obstinacy to make you his, doing whatever it is that would make you happy. Nevertheless, he made sure to be cautious of things you wouldn't want him to do. He still respected you.

He's doing just the same thing, and it's getting you set on thinking whether this is all a dream taking too long to reach its climax or if your dreams are miraculously made into reality. But his next set of words were enough to tell you the clarification to your uncertainties.

"Please don't be mad." Without warning, his lips found their place on your light, pillowy ones. It felt like he was pouring out all emotions he's been holding in until now. He always controlled himself whenever you're around because he didn't want to disappoint your mother. But with this instance is a chance to do something he has long been dreaming of. He wasn't about to lose it.

The way his head tilts to the side to get a more comfortable position, eyes closing and immersed in the pleasure of your lips against his, got you clasping onto your blanket to ease the havoc he's causing in your guts. You froze at the contact. As if time had halted and the world stopped spinning, everything seemed to slow down at that moment. Maybe it was the sweet scent of his bergamot fragrance. Maybe it was the tightening of his grip on your jaw, or perhaps the longing you had for him that's enticing you in this position.

It's not every day that we get to see our dreams come true, and for one, it's a matchless feeling, especially when the dream is worthwhile. Slowly, you give in and close your eyes in the warmth of his touch. His lips parted to bite at your lower lip, and you overtly open your mouth to let him in.

"Do you think you could answer it now?" He questions you, but you couldn't comprehend what he was saying. You were too caught up in your own feelings during the whole session; you almost forgot what happened before it was done. Just when you thought he’d stop pulling out all the hidden quirks of yours, he caught you once again. And it didn't take long enough before you recollected yourself.

"Right. It's way better than I could have ever imagined." You smile at him, giving rise to the same smile as you.

"If this is how it will usually end, maybe I should start gathering more questions for you." He proposes, his head wheeling over to you with sheer excitement.

"Uh-huh... Just make sure you don't catch anything from the streets before you come over." You reply with a cackle, getting off his lap and sitting back down on the soft mattress.

It was supposed to be a dull and boring day. But with another chance that you two meet comes another something to remember forever. And you can't help but grin from ear to ear.

[scenariosbutmakeitgay]

(Jahad x Reader) Young Jahad is an adventurous man, extremely ambigous and he meets Y/n, who's an extremely carefree person that is also climbing the tower, but at an slow pace. Y/n catches his attention and now he wants to drag Y/n with him as he climbs the tower, but she is sadly tough to handle with since she's very carefree and hard to find and as well as a person unmotivated to climb the tower. So, what does the young Jahad do? Peace was never an option, so kidnapping is the way to go!

here you go anon, I gotta admit I started writing it around october last year and finally took the time to finish it properly~

-

Fear of the unknown was either created with the human race or had existed even before it. The greatest dangers always came from the outside and the Tower obeyed this rule like no other. Yet Jahad didn't fear the unknown. He preferred describing his nature as a rather predatorish being and while some tried running away from the unfamiliar, he didn't. Jahad was the unknown. And the Tower was about to face the worst of its fears.

Some people were afraid of the dark. Or maybe not even the dark, more of what remained hidden in it. Yet when you looked at the night sky, shimmering with trillions of shiny stars, it seemed more calming than scary. During all those years you've spent on the outside, you managed to familiarize yourself with the eeriest of its quirks. The unknown wasn't scary – it was alluring. With each day it lost more of its mysteriousness, though. That became the main reason why you entered the Tower in the first place. Climbing its floors – each of them differing from the previous one – was like a fresh breeze. There was nothing rushing you to go farther, and nothing holding you down. Freedom.

Your paths crossed for the first time quite a long time ago – neither of you could pinpoint exactly when it happened. Ever since that day, Jahad appeared in your life every now and again. It would be proper to describe that relationship as two forces existing independently, yet still affecting one another in many ways.

“You should join me,” suggested Jahad after one of the many encounters. “It’s faster to climb alongside others.”

“I’m not interested,” you replied simply, not giving the idea much thought. “I’ll manage it at my own pace just fine.”

The disappointment was visibly plastered on the man’s face, but he didn’t insist. Jahad looked at you one last time as if silently hoping you would change your mind, but when it didn’t happen, he turned his back and left. You smiled lazily, satisfied with regaining your peace and quiet, and aimed your walk in the opposite direction. The floor still had many secrets left to conquer.

After that, all became a blur. You recalled falling asleep under the fabricated sky, warm wind tenderly whispering near your ear like a mother singing a lullaby to her newborn, hoping it would calm it down. When you woke up, the surroundings remained dark. Not in the way the night bears very little light to itself, nor how you close your eyes and drown into the comfortable nothingness. It was as if someone stole all the stars and forcefully ripped your eyelids open, making you feel hatred towards darkness yet simultaneously miss it terribly.

“Are you awake?” a voice called, unsettlingly close to your ear. “I know you are, if you promise to behave, I’ll take off the blindfold.”

A blindfold. Suddenly you could feel the rough fabric scratching your face, every sensation coming off as twice as strong as it should be. Obscuring someone from a sense really did make the other ones overly sensitive.

“I promise,” you agreed, not having any better options left.

Then there was shuffling, breathing getting closer, a bunch of not exactly delicate tucks on the fabric, and you were finally able to see again. You sighed in relief, carefully observing the environment, trying to register where you were.

“I apologize for the methods, but I could not allow you to wake up before we were in the proper location. It would only cause unnecessary turmoil,” the man next to you stated matter-of-factly.

You recognized him in an instant.

“Jahad.”

“Correct,” he sent you a dim smile, taking a step back as he noticed your body language becoming more defensive.

“Why did you take me here?! And where exactly is ‘here’, too?!” you could feel your voice getting almost an octave higher like it had a will on its own, refusing to be controlled by anyone.

“Where we are isn’t relevant. All I want from you is to join me in climbing the Tower. It’s not that big of a request, is it?” he asked, but his tone indicated he wasn’t really looking for any answer. “We’re taking the test tomorrow, so I hope you’re prepared.”

Without wasting much time familiarizing you with the details, he left. All you wanted to do was close your eyes, go to sleep, and hope for it to be just a bad dream. But you didn’t.

The darkness didn’t feel safe anymore.

[sunjaesol]

Can’t handle the heat? (Try me.)

“Put that AC on, folks! It’s gonna be a whopping 105 degrees today and it’s not going down any time soon! Best to stay inside and keep your head in the fridge! Next up - “Positions” by Ariana Grande!”

The band groaned as the radio host clicked off, Ariana Grande blaring through the stereo. The sweltering heat had them all on the floor, fanning their faces with composition papers and one measly portable fan. It did shit, but there was nothing else available in the studio. Reggie’s face was completely red, Alex’s hair has turned brown from sweat and Julie was this close to begging them to teleport her to the Arctic. Everyone was beat. Well... all except one person. 

Luke Patterson would literally be the death of her. And the second death of the boys. 

Though sweating like a pig as well, no heatwave could temper that perpetual energy of his. 

“Come on, guys!” His foot prodded Alex’s side, the blonde swatting him away. “It’s just a lil’ heat. Nothing we’re not used to.”

Alex groaned. “Dude, those lights in the 90′s were for thirty minutes, max. This has been going on for days.”

“Literally!”, added Reg. 

Julie hoisted herself up, cringing at the way her body was suctioned against the cement floor. “I think we just have to wait it out until this ends.”

“It’s LA,” he deadpanned. “It never ends.”

Ugh. He was right. Summers in Los Angeles felt like simmering in an oven for months on end, hot enough to hallucinate, just cool enough to not actually die. It didn’t help that the trees were burning too. There was no shadow or shade for the Californians to hide beneath. 

“Come on, Jules,” he grinned, giving her that face he knew she couldn’t deny. It was an unfair move of his, but she had also been secretly hoping to play a little. Days without music felt like not breathing properly, or sleeping on the wrong side and having a kink in your neck afterwards. Music was, despite the heat, still the thing that tipped her over the edge. And when Luke asked her with that sweet smile... 

It probably helped he looked good all sweaty like that. She couldn’t even feel embarrassed about it. She was seventeen and he was seventeen and hot and it was the only logical reaction one could have.

She sighed. “Fine.” Holding her hand out, he went to grab it and pulled her up. Too hard. Julie flew forward with a squeak, straight into his chest. Instinctively, she grabbed onto his warm shoulders to steady herself while he gripped her waist. Both froze, mortified.

Because they’ve been here before. 

Last summer, after a gig in a tiki bar, the boys and her had been dancing on the beach. Far enough for no one to suspect anything, close enough to still hear the music. Luke and her had been wrapped around each other, executing salsa and tango miserably but having fun either way. She’d been giggling uncontrollably and he couldn’t keep the beam of his face when all of a sudden, their lips were a brush away. If Reggie hadn’t exclaimed he found Patrick Star, she was keenly aware of what would’ve happened. They didn’t talk about it afterwards and Julie filed it in the “Luke Patterson, My Idiot Crush”-map of her brain. 

His body was buzzing with warmth and his muscles rippled under her fingers and his shirt clung to his chest. Her physique probably left little to the imagination too right now. As if burned, Julie let go and settled her eyes back on the boys. They were, of course, eating it up like the bastards they were. 

She clapped her hands, voice an octave higher than usual. “Come on, guys! One run through!”            

Fortunately, everything went back to normal. They were still huffing and puffing, but Reggie was smiling as he found the bassline and Alex discovered that the slam of the drum relieved some heat and Luke was, you know, Luke. Julie pushed the moment to back of her mind. She only allowed herself to indulge in her dreams.

It was hard though. His hair was pushed back and his muscles were glistening like some CW character and with the heatwave, he has somehow become hotter. Did he get a tan? Was that possible? Regardless, Julie’s stomach was in knots. She tried her hardest to give him neutral glances and not like she wanted to slide her hands up his arms. Dios mio, get a fucking grip, Molina.

But then it happened. She should’ve known it would happen. And there was only Reggie to blame.

One run through became five and by then, every pore on their skin was drenched. If only she had a pool. Maybe she should text Kayla after this, beg her to let her use it. As she was debating on that, Reggie pulled of his wife beater. Which was fine. It was Reggie. It was like seeing Carlos run around shirtless after his shower. Five minutes later, Alex exchanged his t-shirt for one of Willie’s crop tops. That also, was fine. She was itching to remove her top as well, a bikini underneath, but she wasn’t sure if her nerves could handle it. 

And then Luke set his guitar down with an annoyed puff and threw his muscle tank on the ground. Julie stilled. Was he going to...? Nope. He wasn’t getting another tank. This was it. This was where she joined them on the side of the unliving. His chest was defined and smooth, abs peeking through the skin. This boy was stupidly hot. It felt illegal: a seventeen year old boy sculpted like Apollo. Her breathing quickened just like that. 

If she thought her throat was dry from the heat, she was mistaken. Julie swallowed back saliva, licked her lips and forced herself to stop ogling. Her actions weren’t fast enough though, Luke having noticed by now and grinning like he won the lottery. 

He sauntered closer, eyes gleaming with mischief and challenge. She held it, levelling his intensity with her own. “Can’t handle a little heat, Jules?”  

Internally, she was happy to be sitting behind her keyboard. Externally though, she could not let him win. If his cocky attitude was normally dialled on five, it was now up to eleven. Try me, Luke.   

She stood up and gave him an unimpressed once-over. “I’m happy you guys are getting comfortable,” she said to Alex and Reg. “Okay if I do too?”

The two nodded, Alex barely holding in a snicker and Reggie letting one out anyway. Luke’s eyes widened, bravado crashing to the floor as he put the pieces together.  

“W-wait, wha-?”

Julie grabbed the hem of her shirt and shed it off her skin. She sighed - finally, some relief from this fucking heat - and let the advantage of surprise push her to throw a prideful smirk his way. Her bikini top was nothing special, but if she had to suffer, then so did he. 

His eyes went from her chest to her face again, stammering and paralysed and yeah, she felt pretty damn attractive right now. She was going to be relishing this moment till the end of time. Smiling innocently, she leaned forward. 

“Something you wanna say, Luke?” 

Frantically shaking his head, he backed away, fingers clenching around his guitar and retreating to his designated spot. The boys were leaning against each other, giggling. 

“Nope,” he coughed, fixing a stressed smile. “Let’s keep going, yeah?”

(When later that day Luke and Julie were cleaning up the studio by themselves and he quietly told her she looked pretty in blue, the tension resolved. She then told him his eyes popped in the sunlight and after, they smiled at each other for a beat. Not heated or shy - just smiling. Open and achingly genuine. It felt like a promise, a hopeful wish that their moment on the beach would happen again.) 

(It would. Two weeks later, right at the end of the heatwave as they played at yet another tiki bar, Luke pulled her aside. Sweaty and sandy and happy, they met the other halfway for a warm kiss.)

Yeah, they could handle the heat.  

@mouse-fantoms @heademptynothoughts @blush-and-books @willexx @unsaid-emily @sophiphi

[sunlight-moonrise]

The Five Times (Reid Imagine)

Summary: Reader recounts the first moments she shared with her new neighbor. 

A/N: I finally wrote a pure fluffy fic! This is a complete 180 from my previous fics. I hope I did the genre justice. As always, thank you to the lovely @spencer-reid-in-a-pool​ for being an awesome beta! Enjoy.

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: None

Word Count: 4.2K

Masterlist

The first time I met my neighbor, I was moving into my new apartment. The movers from the company I hired were kind enough to bring up my heavier furniture, but I was stuck with the boxes holding my miscellaneous objects.

This was my fifth trip up to my apartment and I still had at least ten boxes lying around in the lobby. My body was starting to get tired from all of the excessive movement. 

I heard the familiar ding of the elevator, signaling its arrival. With my current pace, I wouldn’t be able to get in before it closed.

“Hold the elevator!” I quickened my stride, hoping whoever on the other side of the door would be kind enough to adhere to my plea. Luckily that was the case, as I saw a hand shoot out to keep the doors from closing.

Once I made my way inside, I placed the boxes down, allowing my arms a few seconds of rest. I turned to my companion, noticing his tall figure, kind eyes, and small smile.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, what floor?” His voice was soft and sweet. He smelled like cinnamon and coffee. The words that immediately came to mind when I took all of him in were cozy and home.

“Second floor, thanks.” Just then, I noticed that the button was already lit up, signaling that it has already been pressed. “Oh, I guess we’re floor mates,” I commented with a light laugh.

“I guess we are.” There was a momentary silence as the elevator rose up the two floors. I saw him observe the boxes scattered on my feet. “I’m assuming the other packages downstairs are yours,” he stated.

“You got that right.” The doors opened with a ding as I tried to quickly pick up and balance the items in my arms once again. Before I could say something, the kind stranger grabbed one of my boxes and held it in his hands.

“You don’t have to,” I started to protest, “I don’t want to be wasting your time.”

“It’s fine. Helping people is what I do.”

I wanted to complain, to put up more of a fight but my body was already starting to feel weak. It’s been hours since I’ve rested and the heat was not helping my current situation.

With that in mind, I begrudgingly accepted his help. “Okay, but I owe you one.” I led us down the hallway, taking a turn until we were in front of door #24.

“Wow,” I heard him whisper to himself. I was confused as to why he made that comment. Did I do something weird? Is there something embarrassing on my pants?

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just that I live across from you. I’ve never had a neighbor my age before.” He pointed to the door that was behind us, a small smile adorning his face. I couldn’t help but reciprocate with a grin of my own.

“Wow indeed. I promise you I won’t have loud music or multiple visitors.” I open the door, pushing it wide enough for my neighbor to easily go through. I gestured for him to place the box on the floor while I put mine on top of the kitchen’s table.

“Do you want help with the rest of your stuff?” he asked, taking note of the disarray in the small space.

“Yes, I’d appreciate that.”

We finished bringing the rest of my stuff back to my apartment in record time. What would have taken me five trips was cut down to two. I thanked him profusely throughout the whole ordeal and he laughed every time I did so. Once we had all the boxes inside, I made sure to see him out the door, thanking him a final time for his help.

“It’s not a problem, really,” he said, his voice getting slightly higher in pitch. “Uh, my name is Dr. Spencer Reid by the way. Y-you can call me Spencer. It’s less of a mouthful. Or Reid, whichever you prefer. I answer to all three.”

He had the shy smile on his face once more and I couldn’t help but repeat his name in my head. Dr. Spencer Reid. “Pleasure to meet you Dr. Reid. I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

It was at that moment that I associated Spencer with kindness.

●●●

The second time I saw Dr. Reid, I was jogging at the park. It has been two months since I last spoke to him and I felt a twinge of sadness at our lack of interactions. I figured since I was the first neighbor he had his age, that we would be seeing each other more often. Guess that was wishful thinking on my part. I shouldn’t be too upset, he’s a doctor after all; his hours must be crazy.

I was slowing down on my run, searching for a nearby fountain to fill up my bottle. Instead, I found Dr. Reid sitting on a bench, skimming through a thick book. The happiness that filled my body should be embarrassing, I only talked to the guy once. Nevertheless, I made my way too him.

“Dr. Reid!” He startled a bit, almost dropping his book. He looked up, a smile gracing his face when he recognized it was me.

“Hi (Y/N). How are you?”

“I’m pretty good, long time no see,” I stated, hoping he’ll hear the humor in my tone. He gazed at me and for a moment I felt self-conscious. I’m a sweaty mess right now. Loose strands of my hair were sticking to my forehead and my face was red.

“You-uh-went for a run?” he stammered out. A slight pink tint crept on to his cheeks, which I am pretty sure was due to the sun’s rays.

“Yeah, I try to get some exercise here and there when I can. How’s everything going at the hospital by the way?” Maybe if I find out what his schedule is like, I’ll be able to see him more.

“Pardon me?” Crap, did I say something wrong? I tried to recollect the small amount of information I gathered from him when we first met. I don’t recall him mentioning where he works. Maybe he has his own clinic.

“Sorry. Do you have a private practice?” I hated how nervous my voice sounded as I asked him. Spencer’s look of confusion quickly morphed into one of mirth. He let out a small laugh and I became more perplexed by his actions.

“I’m not that kind of doctor,” he clarified. “I hold PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering as well as BAs in Philosophy, Sociology, and Psychology.” His voice lowered a bit at the end and he started looking elsewhere once he finished his statement. Was he ashamed of his accomplishments? I hope not. If I were him, I’d be bragging to anyone within listening distance of my achievements.

“That’s very impressive, I barely know what’s going on in my own profession. You must be some kind of genius,” I remarked with awe. His head snapped back at me, probably trying to figure out if I was pulling his leg.

“Well, I do have an IQ of 187 as well as an eidetic memory. I can also read 20,000 words per minute,” he stated, his voice returning to its usual octave. I glanced at the book on his lap, he probably was reading the text instead of skimming through it like I initially thought. 

“So if you’re not a medical doctor, what do you do? If you don’t mind me asking,” I wondered. 

“I work for the FBI, with the BAU. Behavioral Analysis Unit. We catch serial killers, terrorists, rapists, and other criminals by analyzing their personalities.” I would have never guessed this man was a federal agent.  

“Wow, so you’re a professional hero then.”

He laughed once more before shaking his head, “I’m far from a hero. I just use my skills to my advantage. It’s all in a day’s work.”

I can now add humility to my mental list when describing Spencer Reid. With every moment I spend with him, my infatuation seems to grow.

I was going to continue talking when an insistent cough came out from the man to our left. He sat in front of the chess table, staring at us expectantly. His eyes kept on dashing between Spencer and myself. I scowled at him, wondering what his problem was.

“Uh this is my friend Eric,” Spencer said to me, gesturing to the coughing man. “Eric, this is (Y/N), my neighbor.” Great, now I feel like a jerk for thinking of his friend in such a rude manner.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Likewise.” His eyes returned to Spencer, gawking at him as if he had a secret. However, Spencer’s attention was on his phone and I saw his features change to a stoic expression.

“I have to go; it's work,” he said to the both of us. He gathered his items and stood up from the bench. He turned to me, “Hopefully I can see you by the apartment more often.”

“Hopefully,” I agreed, “See you soon, neighbor.” I flashed him a smile and waved goodbye. He returned the gestures as he walked away.

At that moment I associated Spencer with bravery.

●●●

The third time I saw Spencer Reid, I baked too many cookies. It’s been two weeks since I last saw him, but I knew he was working hard. I heard him come in pretty late last night when I was finishing some chores and decided to come up with a reason to see him. Hence the cookies.

I tried to make sure I appeared decent this time around. So far, the only times he has seen me, I’ve been sweaty and tired. After applying a small amount of makeup and putting on my favorite sundress, I was ready to go.

I made my way across the hallway, balancing the plate with one hand while knocking on his door with my other. I didn’t need to wait that long before the door opened. Only the person I was expecting was not behind it. My smile immediately left my face.

“Hi, can I help you?” asked the beautiful petite blonde woman. Oh god, this is probably his girlfriend. And I am over here pinning over him like a pathetic little girl. If the ground could have swallowed me up, that would’ve been a blessing.

“I made these for Spe- uh Dr. Reid. As a thank you for helping me move,” I quickly stated, hoping she doesn’t hear the dejection in my voice. “Can you please give these to him?” I stared down at my shoes as I pushed the plate towards her hands, cursing my own for being a bit shaky.

“(Y/N)?” I heard a lowly voice whisper. I turned back towards the door and saw Spencer standing behind his girlfriend. He whispered something in her ear before motioning for her to go inside. She glanced at me quickly before doing as he requested. Great, so they both know about my little crush and now he has to come let me down gently.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, although I am sure he had an inkling with the way he was eyeing the plate still in my hand.

“I baked some cookies. Chocolate chip.” I cleared my throat, hating the way it clogged up so fast. “As a thank you for helping me. Had I known your girlfriend was over, I would have given you some more.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, she’s my colleague,” he corrected, that shy smile that I grew to love on his face once again.

“Oh.” A sigh of relief left my body only for it to stiffen once more. Sure she’s not his girlfriend but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one.

I debated whether I should ask him if he's single or not, but figured that would be pushing boundaries. I shouldn’t be asking someone such intimate details about their personal life, especially on the third encounter. But then again, it’ll be nice to know his relationship status before I dig myself too deep in this hole. However, he deserves to tell me that kind of information without me pestering him. Although he migh---

My thought process was interrupted when I saw a hand, Spencer’s hand, waving in front of my face. He had an expression of confusion yet amusement on his face. He was the only person I know who was able to pull off the look.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” He asked with slight concern in his voice. Or at least I’d like to imagine that there was slight concern. I’d like to think he cared over my well-being. I shook myself out of my stupor, returning my attention back to him.

“I’m sorry, I was distracted. What was it that you were saying?” I noticed I was still holding the plate so I quickly placed them in his waiting hands. Gosh, how many times am I going to embarrass myself in front of this man? 

“I said that it’s a good thing that I don’t have a girlfriend. I wouldn’t want to share these with her.” Spencer’s voice had that timid tone once again, the one that reminded me of when he was talking about his accomplishments. I saw the redness on his cheeks which I’m sure matched my own.

“You never know Dr. Reid, these may be the worst cookies you’ve ever had,” I teased. I couldn’t hide my current contentment no matter how hard I tried. The more I talked to him, the more I wanted to spend time with him.

“I highly doubt that. If they’re as sweet as you I’m sure I’ll enjoy them.” I felt butterflies in my stomach at his statement. I’m pretty sure my face got even redder because all I felt was heat enveloping my form.

“Well, my door is always open if you want more,” I responded. And to think that I wanted to drop dead on the floor a few minutes ago.

“I’ll be sure to take you up on the offer,” he smiled, this one bigger than the others I have seen so far. My heartbeat picked up a little and I prayed that he didn’t know the effect he had on me.

I needed to go back to my sanctuary. I can only handle so much before I internally implode and that’ll do neither of us any good.

“See you around Dr. Reid.” I started a slow retreat to my door. Once I made it inside, I turned to see he was still staring at me.

“See you (Y/N).” He waved to me before closing the door.

 At that moment I associated Spencer with warmth.

●●●

The fourth time I saw Reid, I wasn’t prepared. The day was going on pretty normally. I did my daily routine and made a trip to the grocery store. Thankfully, it wasn’t packed so I was able to go in and out within minutes.

I was placing my purchased items in my car when I heard a noise behind me. I couldn’t figure out what it was. I’d typically ignore it, but my mind was screaming at me that something was off. 

When I turned around, I saw a man with a bloody knife in his hand staring at me a few feet away. He seemed as if he came straight out of a horror film, the crazed look on his face made me very uneasy. I thought that this had to be someone’s idea of a sick joke. 

He slowly made his way towards me, knife up ready to strike. I didn’t bother closing my trunk before I jumped into my car, thanking the angels above that I left it on and running. I turned my key in the ignition, preparing to drive off when all of a sudden this man was at the driver’s window. 

He was pounding hard against the glass repeatedly, leaving bloody prints in his wake. I screamed as I saw cracks forming, knowing it was a matter of time before he would hurt me. Pure adrenaline kicked in as I stomped on the gas pedal. I zipped by him, feeling a bump as I most likely ran over his foot.

I kept driving, not stopping until I thought I was in a safe area, which happened to be a relatively deserted dead end. I called 911 and told them about the situation. How they understood me through my hysteria is beyond me but I was informed that help was on the way.

I watched around my surroundings, noting the few people that did walk by. They stared at my car with concern but I didn’t care. I was hyper-vigilant now, holding my keys as if they can offer me a smudge of protection. All I could hear was the sound of his footsteps, the sight of the bloody knife occupying my mind.

Even when the cop cars and black vans pulled up, I did not feel safe. I stayed inside, not daring to come out. Despite seeing a middle-aged cop approach my passenger door, I still jumped when she tapped on the window. It reminded me of the pounding I heard barely fifteen minutes ago.

Tears streamed down my face as I felt myself hyperventilate. Oh my gosh. oh my gosh, oh my gosh. I could have died just now. I could have been dead. It would have taken a few seconds for him to plunge the knife into me, taking away my life. My body would have probably been cold before anyone would have notified the authorities.

The driver’s door opened and I held my keys closer to my chest. I know that it was irrational of me to get defensive over the people that I called for help but I couldn’t help it. My body was still on fight or flight mode and there was nowhere else for me to run to.

“(Y/N). It’s me, Spencer.” What? Is my mind playing tricks on me? Bringing forth the person that could offer me the best comfort at this moment. But as I turned my head, I took in the sight of him. Spencer was here, he was actually here.

“Sp-Spe-Spencer,” I cried out, tears still trailing down my face.

“Yes, I’m here. Can you grab my hand? Can I take you out of there?”

All of sudden, I wanted out of this car. I quickly jumped into his arms, holding him as close to me as possible. The scent of coffee and cinnamon helped to relax me.

I felt his arms wrapped around me, his hands running soft circles against my back. “Shhhhh. It’s okay. You did so well. I’m so proud of you.”

Proud? Of me? I didn’t do anything remarkable. I panicked and ran. 

“Do me a favor. Breathe with me. Follow the way that I breathe,” he stated, his voice offering me serenity and calmness. He could have asked me to jump over a bridge or deep dive into the Atlantic Ocean and I would have done it at the moment.

I obeyed his instructions; inhaling and exhaling the same way he was. I followed the movement of his chest, captivated by the soothing rhythm. The adrenaline slowly started to leave my body. The blood rushing in my ears gradually decreased in volume and my breathing began to lengthen once again.

“Reid, the ambulance is here. They can examine her.” I heard a deep baritone voice say. I didn’t want to go, I didn’t want Spencer to leave me. I tightened my hands around him and buried my face even deeper into his chest, enveloping myself in his scent even more.

“It’s okay Hotch, I’ll take care of it,” I heard Spencer say. The vibration of his chest as he spoke brought warmth to me once again. I wish we could be in this position under different circumstances.

“The paramedics need to check you,” he whispered to me. “But I’ll be right next to you the whole time. I’m not going to let you go.” I peeked over at the ambulance, feeling my heartbeat picking up once more. I didn’t want to go, but I had to have faith in Spencer. I gazed up at him, needing affirmation of his previous statement.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He offered me that small smile of his. The one that is full of comfort and tenderness.

I believed him. I trusted Spencer more than I feared the unknown. 

He kept his word. Spencer stayed by my side the whole time I was with the paramedics, the car ride back to the precinct, and the duration of the questioning I received from some of his teammates. He even drove me back home and walked me to my door, promising to check on me in the morning.

At that moment I associated Spencer with safety.

●●●

The fifth time I saw Spencer, I was making dinner. It’s been a couple of days since I last saw him and my life was slowly returning to normal. I still flinched when I heard loud noises and I strayed from using my bigger knives. However, the nightmares have decreased and the therapist I’m seeing is very helpful. I hope I can go back to being the person I was before this incident.

I heard a gentle knock on my door. I made sure to calm myself down before answering. Unexpected loud noises still frighten me but I am slowly moving past it. I made my way to the entrance, checking the peephole before answering.

I unlocked the door, welcoming the sight of Spencer on the other side. It amazes me how fast my lips tug upwards just from looking at him.

“Hi (Y/N).” He gave me a small wave and an even smaller smile. “We caught him. He won’t be able to hurt you or anyone ever again,” he promises.

Something tells me that he didn’t have to come over here to personally deliver this message. Sure, we’re neighbors, but he didn’t have to go out of his way to tell me information that can be delivered with a phone call or a text.

“Thank you. I really appreciate you telling me this.” I took in his form. He appeared tired, more so than usual. I guess he just got out of work, especially since he still had his satchel on him. He didn’t even go back to his place before coming to mine.

The small pause lingered between us. Spencer looked like he was debating on what to say next. “Well, enjoy the rest of your evening.” He started taking small steps towards his door.

“Wait,” I shouted. The word came out louder than anticipated in the quiet hall. He startled a little but stopped walking to focus his attention on me.  

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” I asked, hopeful that he would accept my request. “I assure you there is plenty of food. Plus, it’ll be nice to be in your company again,” I finished. His head tilted as he stared at me, a bewildered expression on his face. I felt mine heating up as I realized the mistake I made.

“Uh I-I mean to have company. It’ll be n-nice to have company again,” I rushed out. I anxiously waited for his response as he contemplated my invitation. His hands were fiddling with one another and I saw a slight blush decorating his cheeks.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a home-cooked meal,” he stated with a smile that I returned. I moved out the way, allowing him to enter my lovely abode.

“You can place your jacket and satchel on the coat rack. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back.” I made my way back to the kitchen, checking on the food to make sure it hadn't burned. I then opened the fridge, grabbing my pitcher of water.

“I like the way you arranged your furniture. Your living room looks a lot more spacious than mine.” I heard Spencer commented. I poured the water into a glass before walking back to where he was standing. He was admiring the small stack of books I had on my shelf.

“Thank you, I tried to make the most of what I got. I’m glad it worked out.” I handed him the glass of water which he graciously took from me. I cursed myself for staring at the way he drank the cool liquid, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every swallow.

“Dinner is almost ready,” I stated, my pitch coming out higher than normal. I hoped my face was not as red as it felt.

“It smells amazing. Would you like me to set the table?” he asked.

I looked at Spencer again, noticing that he had a different smile on him. This one was wider and more genuine. I could see his white teeth peeking through. This smile gave me a sense of domesticity, affection, purity, and more. I am sure the grin on my face matched all the emotions I felt for him as we stood in front of one another in my living room.

At that moment I associated Spencer with love.

[adorehs]

changing your tune

Hi I just wanted to mention that a lot of this might be inaccurate. This is based off of my time in my city's youth orchestra so while I’m sure some things transfer, but not everything. Kinda bad at the end per usual <3

Summary: Classical Musician!Y/N has created a simple life for herself consisting of herself, her music, and the boy she loves. Friends to lovers. (15.6k words)

Warnings: mostly fluff, slight angst, mentions of smut, minor character death. 

“I just think I need to have a fuller tone to really get the dark undertone of the music. Like, it’s so clearly meant to be this dark, horrible travesty but if I can’t get the tone right then it’s just this light and airy travesty. But I can’t bend the note just right, my air is, like, gone,” you vent out. 

Harry watches you intently from where he sat in your study with a hand holding his chin up and an elbow on his knee, “I think it sounds great.”

You look at him unimpressed, “It’s all chalumeau. Of course it sounds good, it just doesn't sound right.” 

“Right, so it’s in the lower register,” he mentally reminds himself, “What’s it supposed to sound like?” 

You let out a sigh and pick up your clarinet from the stand it rested on, “It sounds kind of different without my custom, but the r13 will work for now,” you mumble, adjusting the reed and ligature on your mouthpiece, a nervous tick you picked up in school. 

Your eyes flicker up to Harry, waiting for his glance of approval before you start. Your cheeks expertly swell and decompress in size as you circular breathe through the measures, your mind concentrated on the smooth transitions between rhythms and the registers, cutting the triplets short as you’ve written them. 

The soothing noise of your clarinet fills the large room immediately, your forte becoming all too loud to process any thoughts. The victorian-styled room had low hanging lights that streamed a warm orange tone over the patterned chairs and built-in bookcase that held hundreds of music books with etudes you’ve mastered since your youth. 

Though the warm tones made the room feel homely, the curtains were drawn back and the windows were opened ajar allowing a short breeze to flow in every two minutes. You knew better then to turn on a fan around your hand-crafted instrument. You understood the fluctuation it would cause if the temperature changed drastically day by day. This is why you were careful to turn the air conditioning off before you opened the window, keeping the temperature relatively steady through the day. 

Harry watched you in pure concentration- he was truly enamoured by the way you lost yourself in music. He wanted to understand what you were saying but it was hard- he enjoyed music but was completely deaf when it came to describing the mood of a piece. 

He worked with numbers, and loved it. A born accountant in your presence, watching you play your clarinet with what seems to be ease. But you seemed so distant from him. A whole world away. And how was he going to sweep you off your feet when he can hardly understand your career? 

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as the technique became more difficult, effectively making you let off your clarinet and huff a breath of disapproval. Your heart was clearly pounding after the page you played at full tempo for effect, but you tried not to show the effect the music had on your body. 

You reached for your pencil before erasing a note you had written and writing another one in, a higher register G#. The graphite smeared on the yellow-tinted manuscript book that sat on the music stand before you, everything shaking lightly as vigorously colored in the line and drew in a staccato articulation above the sixteenth note. 

Forgetting Harry’s presence, you picked up your clarinet once again and played the same measure in sets of five, increasing the tempo by four beats each time, before deciding it is satisfactory for now. 

Your face only showed a slight upturn, as you wrote in a new measure, testing how the chord would resolve with some soft air and incomplete vibrations through the wooden block. Minor chord or major? you asked yourself.

Harry’s eyes watched yours as they darted across the room from your clarinet, to your manuscript, to your metronome, which was silently flashing a red light at a tempo of 180 and a subdivision of eighth notes. 

He wondered who taught you so harshly- he’d never seen someone so critical of their own work. You liked to make everything very perfect in a meticulous way- you knew just when to linger on the seventh of a chord to leave an uneasy feeling in the pit of one;s stomach and you were stellar when it came to expressing a story and emotion through your music. At least that’s what Harry thought. 

“So where does your tone need to get fuller?” he asks again.

You looked up at him, slightly shocked. You had forgotten he was there, “When I get higher, like, near the F#. It has no depth to the note and it sounds like a playground piece,” you explain softly, watching as his eyes furrowed in confusion.

“So you want it to sound darker when the octave goes up?” he confirms one more time.

You nod, “Yeah. Want it to sound more emotional and thoughtful. It also makes me sound like a stylistically competent player,” your eyes flicker back to the page in an instant. 

“I think your style is good. You have a good variety in the symphony, too. They’ll like this one. Get the solo down and then ask some people to come and play with you,” Harry comments, rubbing his hands on his corduroy pants as he sits back further in the chair. The heavy fabric makes a dissatisfying pulling noise as Harry moves around in the chair, resting his hands on the dark wooden arms with ornate carvings on the ends. 

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “They haven’t taken my last three. If I can just make one good one, I can take some more risks and possibly compose a whole symphony,” you pause, making eye contact with Harry again, “But that’ll take years. Probably only when I retire from the orchestra.”

“They are good,” Harry argues weakly. He doesn’t know how to convince you because all he knows is that he likes it. 

“Well clearly they’re not as good as you and I think,” you counter with a huff, picking up your clarinet once more before playing the same piece from the beginning. 

//

After an overextended work week, Harry was excited to go out and have some fun with his friends. He was still a ripe twenty-six year old, working long and hard hours as a starting budget analyst, hoping to be promoted higher within the job and lighten his workload- at least that's what everyone promised will happen. Nevertheless, he still enjoyed the simple pleasures of going out and celebrating his friends. 

It was an all too familiar setting- a sticky, trashed bar with little to no care given to the seats that were falling apart at the seams. He found himself thinking of the frat parties you had described to him when he asked what Greek Life was. 

But, he was there to celebrate one of his colleagues' birthdays. It was her twenty-fifth, so he found himself understanding the want for a big party. The bar might have been trashed but it was large and suitable for the hundreds of people she seemed to invite.

And among the hundreds, he only viewed one. You. 

You wore a dress that you pulled from the back of your closet and hadn’t seen the light of day since you were in college. You wore it to special events and networking parties, but you found it all too nice to wear to most other situations you found yourself in.

Harry had definitely forgotten your connection to his colleague, or better known as your sister. He watched as you greeted her with a wide smile and a kiss on the cheek, an awkward side hug was exchanged as everyone around you both cheered in excitement. You were pretty loved. 

“Happy birthday Mon,” you repeat for the second time that day, “Hope the year treats you well.” 

Your sister smiled in response, “Off to a great start,” she eyes the party reviving behind you, “I’m glad you could make it. Thought you’d have a performance tonight.”

You shook your head, “Nope. Requested this day off a year ago. Couldn’t miss my favorite day of the year!”

Your sister glances at you with a look of amusement, “Happy Monica day is your favorite of the year?”

“Yup, love happy Monica day,” you reiterate. 

Monica opened her mouth to reply but was swiftly cut off by a deep British accent, “Happy birthday Mon!” you hear from behind you.

You turn around quickly, side stepping to allow Harry into your conversation. He leans into your sister before granting her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, “How are you?” he asks, replacing your spot in front of her. 

You smile at Monica and halfheartedly wave a goodbye as you slowly make your way over to the bar to order some food. You decided a year ago that you were going to stop drinking. At first, it was a hard choice to make. You were used to having a drink in most social situations, especially being a young adult working with people of all ages. It was a common scene to find you in- an after party with hundreds of musicians having a glass of champagne or white wine in celebration. 

You sat yourself on a deep crimson stool, swirling slightly as you waited for your sliders to be given to you. Watching as people met and reconnected was isolating for you. You knew very few people Monica worked with and found yourself just shy of saying hi to someone who looked friendly every time you were at a gathering such as this one. 

Nodding a silent thank you as your sliders were placed in front of you, your attention shifts. It was the loud talking and blaring music that made your brain want to go into overdrive, never quite getting used to noises you couldn’t control. 

“Hi, Y/N,” you feel a body slide into the seat beside you. You couldn’t exactly pin whose voice it was at first listen so you shift your body towards them and slide the plate between you two as a peace offering. 

“Hey,” you reply, making eye contact with one of Monica’s friends you met when she first started working at the firm. 

“How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I’m alright, Louis. And yourself?” 

“I’m quite alright. Been working a lot. Itching to get promoted,” he lets out a small laugh, “But who isn’t.”

You shoot him a grin, “Not sure, I love my job.”

“When’re you playing next? Love to come see you play. Haven't been to the new show yet,” he leans in towards you and takes a slider before leaning back again. 

“Play Thursday to Sunday every week until November. Then we switch to Christmas ballets,” you tell him with a grin, “I recommend Thursday or Sunday, though. Best prices and best crowd.”

He nods in confirmation, “I’ll have to take Harry with me, know he’s been bugging me to go with him for a while.”

“Yeah, bring him! It’ll be fun, we can all go out after too!” you counter, dismissing Louis' comment about Harry’s insistent nature. That was just him, you thought. 

“Definitely,” he agrees, “Plus it’s a nice way to unwind. I’ll definitely see if I can come soon.”

“Oh, please! I love seeing a familiar face. Feel like I play better,” you laugh, “Still get nervous, but Harry always tells me I’ll do amazing.”

“Harry’s good at that,” Louis agrees, “Always makes sure you don’t undersell yourself. And he’s right! You’re amazing.” 

You feel your cheeks heat up at the compliment, “Thank you! He’s definitely everyone's biggest cheerleader,” you joke. Turning around entirely in your stool, your eyes sift quickly through the crowd in search of Harry. “See, there he is,” you chortle, “Hyping up Niall as he chugs a,” you squint.  

“A beer, probably,” Louis completes for you. 

You both laugh and watch as Niall shoots up from his spot on the ground in victory before immediately falling back onto the ground with great dramatics. The room roars as Harry helps his friend stand back up and walks him over to the bathroom before swinging the door back open, “Ladies and gentlemen,” he pauses for effect, “The boy lives!” 

The room once again falls into a unison form of laughter as Niall appears behind Harry moments later, “Where’s the beer?” he shouts over the laughs, which quickly turn into cheers at his sportsmanship. 

While Louis lets out a loud laugh at his friend's antics and moves towards the crowd to see more clearly, you looked up towards Harry. He dressed himself impressively well considering his lack of knowledge in the arts. Though he wore a simple outfit consisting of a red button up and black jeans, his confidence soared higher than anyone else’s you’d seen in a while. 

His smile was infectious and seemed to fill his whole face and as his eyes raised to meet yours it grew to a tenfold. Speaking with his body language, you somehow sensed that he wanted you to get up and join him. 

You shook your head with a smile and mouthed ‘I’m fine here!’ only to receive a ‘What!?’ in response. You shook your head in defeat and stood up, mouthing the same phrase only slower. 

Harry replied with a look of realization and instantaneously, a pout replaced his smile. You frowned at your effect on him, not wanting him to feel upset because of you of all people. 

You stood up and slowly started making your way over to him, allowing the smile to rediscover its place on his lips. He was watching you near him, when his head suddenly snapped towards a high pitched scream coming from your sister, “It’s midnight!” she shouts. 

Harry chuckles at her dramatics and smiles when he feels your body press up against his side. He didn’t have to look to know it was you, he could smell your distinct perfume as you neared him and he was happy knowing you found comfort around him- though that should’ve been clear from the nights upon nights you spend together, him listening to your music and you listening to his rants. 

Monica was handed a bottle of champagne and she stepped into the middle of the corner you all occupied, people filing in suit around her and forming a circular crowd. 

“Hey everyone! Uh- thank you so much for coming- I mean it. It means a lot to me to be surrounded by a bunch of people I love on my favorite day of the year!” She jokes, earning some light laughs and a few words of endearment thrown back at her. “No, seriously, thanks a lot, and,” she trails off, her thoughts too blurry for her planned speech, “Here’s to twenty five!” she cheers, shaking the champagne bottle, allowing it to pop and spray all over. She quickly spins in an attempt to spray everyone, but the champagne bubbles over and only gets half the group. 

You and Harry both laugh, shaking your hands to get the sticky substance off your bodies. “She tries every year and never succeeds,” you tell him.

He chuckles in response, “She gets too drunk to remember.” 

“Or she just thinks that she’s sober enough to get it this year,” you laugh back. 

Harry laughs and nods, “Definitely. She thinks she’s perfectly fine,” he points at Monica who is going around the circle and hugging everyone in thanks. “To be fair she looks okay,” he adds. 

“She always does,” you agree with Harry.

The two of you fall silent and you stand back watching your sister make rounds. Harry’s hand creeps onto your back as he steps closer to you, bringing you in front of him. He hums along to the song you couldn’t remember the name of that was blaring on the speakers and he basks in the glory of being in your presence. 

Soon enough, your sister had made her way over to the two of you, hugging you both and exchanging her thanks for coming and just as quick as she came, she left you two alone. 

“So, uh,” Harry starts.

“Hey, um, I’m gonna leave. Got an early start tomorrow,” you tell Harry, pointing at the door. 

“Oh, yeah, definitely. Yeah, you should go,” he stammers.

You smile at him, “Okay, cool. I’ll see you later?” you asked, stepping towards Monica to say a final happy birthday and goodnight. 

“Yeah, definitely,” he nods in confirmation. 

You wave before finding your sister and saying goodnight, then driving yourself back home. 

//

Harry was sitting in bed with his laptop on his lap and a blanket covering his legs. He was doing some research in an attempt to find books that could teach him about music theory. 

He told himself he wanted to be more involved in his friends' lives and further his education in one of his weakest subjects- music. But in reality, it was clear to those around him that he wanted to impress you and be more involved in your life and yours only. They had never seen him pick up a book on physical therapy or take a quick online course on python- he was doing it all purely for you. 

He was contemplating if he should invest in a book or just take a free online course, both seemed like viable options but he wanted to optimize his time. He wanted to make it click faster. 

He decided he’d try the online course and take his chances and if he still didn’t understand he would invest in a book. 

So there he was on a Tuesday evening sitting in bed with his headphones in learning how basic chords were made. He wrote notes as if he was still in school and studied them after each lesson. He wasn’t fully immersed in the world like you were, but he felt as though he could carry a bit more of a conversation with you about music, especially when compared to before. 

Harry was learning slowly but surely and in about a week he could, in theory, explain how to develop a minor chord from it’s major among various other basics (that you would probably think were common knowledge) but he had no recollection of learning. 

As per usual, he spent every Monday and Wednesday evening with you. On Mondays, you would have movie night and on Wednesdays, he would get some work done in your office while you played. It never truly distracted him, either. Honestly, it made him feel very peaceful and he found that the routine was more about being in the presence of each other rather than making memories. 

One Wednesday, he had completed his work early and as usual, he would sit and see what you had composed to help give his limited input on your compositions. 

Typically, he would sit and listen silently with a slight tilt to his head while he thought up a thoughtful comment about your playing. You would always sit there anxiously, with your posture beginning to slouch since you were not playing anymore, waiting for a comment that you both knew would be neither helpful or negative. 

Harry was good at that. He was good at making you feel like you were doing good with absolute sincerity and not a single waiver of his voice. His face would stay straight and he would find the good in it all. It was probably your favorite part of the man who sat with you on the particular day. 

This time, unlike the last, your window was shut tight and you were trying your hardest to keep your hands steady. You couldn’t make the piece sound right. It sounded okay but that would not get you signed. It needed to be calculated and perfect in a theoretical standpoint. It also needed to be simple enough to split into parts for larger groups but difficult enough to have solo excerpts from each instrument- in case a full orchestra didn’t work. 

And that was difficult to accomplish. 

Harry knew that and he agreed- how could one person who hadn’t ever been signed make such an elaborate piece? He thought it was absolutely absurd that to maximize your chances you had to make the piece a combination of just about everything. 

You sat with the same face as you usually did, one pleading for some sort of advice or criticism. What you weren’t expecting was for Harry to deliver. 

“Think if you made it a minor chord instead of a major and ended on the seventh it could bring some edge,” Harry eventually says. 

Your eyes widen slightly in confusion, “Yeah, uh, let me try that,” you stammered. 

You covered what you had written with a sticky note, drawing on the new scale. You showed Harry the note and asked him if that was what he was thinking, to which he replied yes. You nod lightly and play the piece once again from the beginning, swaying slightly as you approached lyrical bits and narrowed your air stream to control your volume. 

Harry nods along with your playing, pausing slightly in places he could tell you didn’t like much. Eventually, he watches as you play what he had suggested, anxiety rising up his throat in fear of not being accepted. 

“Think I like it. But I need to fix some of the other stuff too,” you told him once you finished. “It would definitely feel right that way.”

Harry nodded and stood up. He rounded the long desk and joined you where you sat by the window in an uncomfortable chair made to help keep your posture near perfect. He crouched down so he could be eye level with your music and furrowed his brows.

You watched as he read the notes carefully, taking his time as he took in each technically challenging measure and the lyrically soft measures in contrast. You grew anxious for his approval so you busied yourself by taking the sticky note off of the manuscript and erasing and redrawing the notes for the new scale Harry advised you to add.

You took your time, slowly coloring each eighth note, the graphite crumbling down the page, leaving a light smear as you wiped it away with the side of your hand.

Harry looked up at you, “I think you should change this,” he points, “Make it flat and get rid of this note entirely,” he spoke slowly. You watch as his finger indicates each note and you nod along softly.

“Okay, I’ll try,” you agree.

He nods in response and rests his hand on your thigh, you hardly notice the action that felt natural in the moment.

You temporarily wrote in each suggestion and played the piece again from the beginning, a process the two of you were becoming increasingly annoyed with. As you approached the measure he had pointed out, your mind wondered: how did he know all this and why didn’t he mention any of it before?

Your air slowed down as your mind wandered and your fingers followed closely after, a ritardando, Harry noted. He hadn’t mentioned tempo but he found that bringing the piece down to cut time brought a new feeling that he couldn’t put his finger on.

Abruptly, you stopped, and Harry knew you didn’t realize. You both sat in silence for a moment before Harry stood up and moved back over to where he was sitting previously. He cleared his throat, “I’m gonna head out. Good luck Y/N,” he rushed out. 

You shook your head in disbelief. You truly didn’t understand what just happened. But, you shook it off and tried again, keeping the ritardando. 

Harry on the other hand, was in a state of panic. He had realized what he had done and he thought she did too, resulting in her abrupt stopping point. 

Harry had begun to understand that he was in love with you. And he didn’t know until just then. But he had done everything just for you. 

//

The following Sunday Harry finally managed to drag Louis out of his city apartment and downtown to the Meyerson Symphony Center where you were to perform Mendelssohn’s Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Neither Harry or Louis have seen you perform this particular show so they were late to learn that you had auditioned for and successfully got the clarinet solo in a particular piece from the Symphony named Scherzo.

You had explained to Harry your appeal to this particular symphony- you found it to be unique of all the others that accompanied Shakespeare's work. Instead of relaying a difficult emotion or putting a satirical spin on a human issue like his other works did, you found Midsummer to be a pure romp into romance and the abnormalities of love. 

And though you hadn’t been in love for a while, you found yourself feeling the emotion wholly through both the piece and music in it of itself. 

Harry had read midsummer before- in fact he had seen it live with his mum and sister when he was younger, but he never understood the effect the music had on the play. He never looked into the contextualization of the play, let alone the deeper aspirations of it. 

He understood music theory but he still had trouble analyzing music itself. He couldn’t pinpoint moods by just listening- he needed to see it written out which he believed hindered his ability to enjoy music to its fullest extent.

Needless to say, Harry entered the theater with Louis with a thought of determination. All he wanted was to find a way to understand the music and appreciate it as you did. They were both clad in matching suits, a simple black and white for the symphony, and made their way to the middle where their tickets directed them. Harry sat in the aisle and Louis sat right next to him, whispering in excitement of the show. 

“I fucking love this story,” Louis says.

Harry lets out a quiet laugh, “I hardly remember it.” 

Louis joins Harry in laughter and shrugs, “Oh well, it’ll still be good.”

Harry nods in agreement and turns away from Louis as the curtains open and the lights dim.

It wasn’t the first time he had seen you on this stage, but he found himself mesmerized as he found you with his eyes. He watched as you scanned the crowd quickly, your eyes jumping past him and Louis a few times before you recognized your friends. You shot them each a relieved smile and sat up straighter in your chair. 

The conductor cast a smile at everyone before beginning the first piece, the Overture making its debut in the room. Just as Harry was used to, the melodic sounds filled the room to the brim, every last corner feeling the pure emotion that was put into the piece. 

Harry couldn’t describe the feeling but he knew he was proud. He understood that watching you in your element is probably the worst thing he could do for himself, but he had to. It was pure torture to watch you fall in love with something that wasn’t him, but he loved the way it happened.

You lost yourself so easily and he felt as though you were the loudest in the room. He could hear your sound over everyone else's, your instrument being isolated from all the others in his mind. Harry could swear he had never been so proud in his life to see someone do what they love. 

As the overture came to a close, his hands met in applause and he felt the need to stand up just so you would know how much he loved it. But as quickly as he started, he stopped his applause and the next piece was beginning. 

No. 1 Scherzo. It was the second piece on the track and your personal favorite for reasons you would not disclose to Harry. He had heard you practice it a few times before, nodding along as he recognized fragments of the piece. 

It was around three minutes into the piece when Harry learned why it was your favorite. Because it was just you. You were the only one playing- your solo bringing tears to his eyes. It was just that moment when you looked up and made eye contact with Harry, him nodding with a large grin on his face with reassurance, you’re doing amazing, it read. 

When you looked back up at your music, your eyes narrowing in concentration, you failed to notice the look on Harry’s face. His phone had buzzed and he found himself confused- he was sure he put it on silent. The feeling that was elicited was nothing but good, so he decided to go check just for some peace of mind.

He stood up, pointing at his phone when Louis questioned him silently, gaining a nod of approval as Harry exited the theater in a rush. 

The second he exited the room that was beginning to become overly stuffy and constricting, he took a deep breath and told himself you’re probably just overreacting. 

Harry was anywhere from overreacting. It was that exact moment that he had received a text that was pushed through do not disturb. The text was from his mum and read nothing but horrible news. The five words that found themselves on his screen that illuminated his face as he stood right next to the door called him a coward. They read: This contact has dialed 999.

Harry understood the severity of the situation but he didn’t know what to do. All he knew is that she called- he didn’t know why or where she was. He didn’t know if he had to book a flight back home or not. 

Just as Harry was getting up and leaving for his own agenda, you had finished your solo. You looked up once again, hearing the applause and searching for Harry once more. But this time, you found Louis sat alone with a large grin creeping across his face and his applause filling the space next to him. 

You had never felt as hurt as you did in that moment. He had left you. Harry, the man you now realized you love, found something more important than you and your aspirations, and there was no physical way that it wouldn’t sting. What you didn’t know was that as your heart was breaking, Harry’s mum’s was. 

//

It had taken two hours for someone to answer the phone. Two hours for Harry to spend most of his savings on a red eye to the London airport. Ten hours for him to touch down in London. Three to make his way to the hospital next to his childhood home. 

He was distraught to say the least. 

He had left without mention of what was happening, his phone exploding with texts from Louis and Monica making sure he was okay, but not a word from you. He felt betrayed, but he understood. You had things going on too and he wasn’t the center of your universe. 

The hospital looked sterile, not a single thing out of place. The walls were coated in a pristine white color that nearly blinded Harry’s bloodshot eyes, and he spent a few minutes catching his breath before he asked where his dad was. 

He walked sluggishly onto the elevator, the weight of reality crushing him as he waited for what seemed like ages but really was hardly forty seconds for the elevator to jolt to a stop. When it stepped off, he saw what he imagined to be organized chaos.

People were walking quickly up and down the lengths of the corridor and he found himself passing by far too many crying people to think anything good could ever happen in a hospital- not revival nor birth. 

He walked the length of the corridor in silence, taking in his surroundings. He was in shock- he could hardly even process that he was in England, let alone why he was there. It was only when he stopped shortly at the sight of his mum and sister sleeping, their heads resting on each other's, that he realized the severity of what was happening. 

And so, with a deep breath, he sat down on the floor before them, resting his back lightly against the leg chairs and he rested his forehead on his knees. It didn’t seem like his life that he was living- he felt like this was all a vivid dream, but it wasn’t. It was less than twenty four hours ago that he was with Louis watching your performance and now he sat with his family outside of his father's hospital room praying he would be okay. 

Harry was one of hopeful thinking and that was made apparent when a doctor exited his father's room with a stack of papers.

Harry was the first to stand, followed by his mother and sister, who were unsure of when he had arrived. He shook hands with the doctor, who he learned was named doctor Wilson. He was clad in the same scrubs as every other doctor but Harry found his to be a special type of unattractive- or maybe that was his subconscious distracting himself from the situation at hand. 

Doctor Wilson cleared his throat as Anne made her way next to Harry, Gemma shielding herself from the news from behind him, “So,” he cleared his throat “Mr. Styles came in about a year ago to have his lungs screened, as you may know, and he was diagnosed with small cell lung cancer,” he nodded. 

“Well, Mr. Styles seems to have,” he left a pregnant pause in his sentence, “He seems to have the cancer cells spreading rapidly. We would like to put him on a self contained respirator and monitor him closely to give you some more accurate information about his cancer and give you some answers within a few hours,” he says slowly. 

Harry shook his head in disbelief- his father had never mentioned cancer let alone a screening. 

“Thank you doctor,” he heard Anne speak from behind him. He sent a last glance at the broken family and moved back into the room. 

//

It was the first you had heard from him in about half a week. He had called you on Wednesday after not answering your messages asking if he will make his way over on Monday for your movie night. 

“Hi,” you answer softly. 

“Hey- uh,” you heard some shuffling, “Hey.”

Your eyes furrowed in confusion, “Are you coming over?” 

There was a long pause on Harry’s end and you just about opened your mouth to confirm that he could hear you when he replied, “No,” he said shortly. “I- uh- I’m at home.”

“Do you want me to come over?” you asked in confusion.

“No, like, I’m in the UK,” he quickly corrected you.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, leaving a pregnant pause on your end, “Oh,” you replied. 

“Yeah, I-” you could hear a few other voices in the background and you imagined they were his mum and sister, “My dad- he’s not doing so good. He has stage four lung cancer.”

“Oh,” you let out again. “I- uh- sorry, I really just don’t know what to say right now.”

Harry let out a breathy chuckle, which you could tell had bitter undertones, “That’s alright… don’t exactly know what to say myself.”

“I- uh- I’m really sorry,” you tell him sincerely, “God I feel like such an ass,” you expressed. 

Harry’s eyes furrowed in confusion and he looked up at his mum to ensure she wasn’t listening, “No need, I promise it’s fine you don’t have to say anything.”

“I just- I was so mad at you for leaving and not saying anything and ignoring me. Thought I did something wrong or you were mad at me,” you explain. “Didn’t know what was going on and I was scared that I lost you.”

“Couldn’t lose me if you tried,” Harry laughed softly, you joining his laughter momentarily. 

“Are you still mad I didn’t tell you I was going?” Harry asked after a long moment of silence.

“No- not at all. Was mainly just worried,” you reassure him, “I totally understand,” but you didn’t. How could he not tell you? Did he not think you deserved to know why he left when you were playing for him?

“I’m really sorry. Kinda just fell off the face of the Earth for a few days. Was anticipating the news and trying to stay strong for my mum and Gemma,” he explains. 

Before you could reply, Harry starts again, “Hey, uh, we’re going back to the hospital so I’ll talk to you later, alright?” he says quickly before hanging up and leaving you alone in your study, clarinet in front of you. 

You truly didn’t know how to cope with what just happened- it felt like heartbreak on two spectrums- family and lover. But he was neither, which hurt even more. 

You picked up the piece of handcrafted wood that sat in front of you and tried your hardest to pour your heartbreak into the piece- adding pain, edge, and suffering to the nearly- done piece in an attempt to exert your feelings into something productive. 

It worked like a charm, which was something you felt bad mentioning. You found yourself falling in love with the piece, fractures of your heart making up every line and the composition falling right into place as your muse fell right apart across the world.

It was the next morning when you received the message from Harry: He’s gone. In his sleep. I’ll be home in a week. Gotta sort some things out. -H

//

Harry arrived home that following Tuesday and he was exhausted but grateful to be back to his tiny townhouse in the middle of a city with his friends surrounding him. 

He felt as though coping wasn’t an option anymore- he had taken up a whole week for that and in this moment in time he felt as though he had already done enough coping. 

There was a memorial service the weekend after his father died and to say Harry’s family were crushed would be an understatement. 

Anne, Gemma, and Harry each had prepared a speech for the service and none of them felt as though they could do the senior Styles any justice. He was a good man and they couldn’t even begin to explain that to everyone there. Nobody could understand the pain in the same way as they did, so they did their best to remember him in the best light. 

Harry was mainly happy for one thing- the following day was Wednesday. He had taken off the rest of the week so he could recover from any jet lag and start the new week back with a fresh start, so he knew that tomorrow would be a great day to catch up. With work and with you.

He hadn’t seen a single person since he was back but upholding the tradition was important to him. He favored you over most all his friends anyway, so when he parked his old car in the driveway of the large house you inherited from your grandparents, he was excited. 

He knocked twice and rang your doorbell once,queuing you to open the door in shock less than a minute after. “What are you doing here?” you ask confused, pulling Harry into a long hug. You had missed him on his ten days of abstinence from you. 

“Got back yesterday, can’t skip out on tradition,” he shoots you a smile, letting go of your warm embrace. You took a moment to look at him before deciding he wanted a distraction from everything going on in his life. 

You open the door further, beckoning him to come in, “Well come on, I need your opinion on my piece,” you gesture towards your office dramatically. 

Harry chuckles and bows in thanks, “After you,” he says with a posh accent. 

You both laugh, heading inside to where your things were set up and ready to go. He sat down in the same chair as he always does and you round the desk to sit where your clarinet was standing and your manuscript laid. 

“Okay, so I added, kind of a lot, while you were gone,” you warm him. 

He nodded and gestured for you to play, “Well go on then. Show me what you added,” he crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. 

You glanced at Harry and your music a few times each in an attempt to correlate the two in your mind- this was your Harry and he would never hurt you. You began to play the piece that you had become sickly familiar with but Harry found himself utterly perplexed at the sound of a new beginning. You had nearly changed the entire beginning and Harry loved it.

He found it to be oddly comforting to listen to you for what felt like the first time ever but in reality it was just another sense of stability in the world you two had created- the world that was exclusively Harry and Y/N. 

The moment you reached the end, a bit he had helped you with, you found yourself stumbling over your composition, making Harry's brow furrow together. You were a perfectionist when it came to music- you loved the control that came with being able to play flawlessly and change how it all came together and he found it odd that you of all people were messing up something you had written in for weeks. 

“Sorry,” you let out a huff, running a hand through your hair, “I’m really stressed and it’s really making this all worse.”

Harry nodded in understanding, “You should take a break,” he tells you with full seriousness. 

You look at him with a blank face for a moment before bursting out into laughter, “You can’t be serious.”

Harry looked at you confused, “I’m serious.”

“Harry this is my job. This is equivalent to me getting a promotion. I can’t stop!” you explain harshly.

Harry nodded, “I understand. Just-” he paused, “Just come with me, okay?” 

“No, Harry, I can't, I have to do this,” you stood your ground. 

“Y/N,” he spoke firmly, “If you hate this and want to kick me out for a week and let you compose on your own after this, you can. Just come.”

You let out a sigh and deliberated your options, “Fine. But there is a high chance you’re not showing up at my door for a week,” you point an accusatory finger at Harry.

He raises his hands in defense, “Okay, noted. Let’s go slowpoke,” he teased. 

You flashed him your middle finger and a toothy grin before packing up your clarinet and setting it on your desk. You follow Harry out to his car and get in the passenger seat as he starts the car and makes his way out of your neighborhood. 

“Can I ask where we are going?” 

“Patience is a virtue,” Harry replied, making you roll your eyes dramatically. 

“You’re so annoying,” you reply. 

“You love me,” he states smugly, making your eyes grow the size of saucers. 

“Not right now I don’t” you tease once you recover from your previous state of shock. 

Harry shakes his head and says, “Home Depot. That’s all you’re getting out of me.”

You wondered why he could be taking you to Home Depot of all places- not getting food or going shopping to find another piece of clothing you don’t need. 

Harry parked easily before exiting the car, you follow after him in a haste. You have to job to catch up with Harry who seems to be walking a mile a minute to get into the building, “What the fuck are we doing here?” you ask again. 

“We,” Harry says, pointing at the two of you, “Are going to paint that white wall in your office,” he says with a smile.

Your face mirrors his, a grin of your own making its way across your face. You had mentioned to Harry months ago that you were itching to paint the room but you never made the time for yourself to do that. 

This time, it was you who took the lead, teasing Harry for taking too long to make his way into the store. You find your way to the back of the store where you see a few employees mixing paint for customers and you find your way to the pantone swatches, Harry immediately picking up a brown one, “I think it’ll match the wood, no?” 

You laugh and shake your head, “No I want it to be your hair color.”

Harry’s mouth opens in realization before grabbing another strip. He squints, reading the name aloud, “Werge,” he says confused. 

You fall into a fit of laughter before moving down the wall to look at the blues, the color you were actually hoping to get. 

With Harry’s unwillingness to be serious and your contagious laughs, it took you forty five minutes to find the color you had seen online a few months ago and had screenshotted on your phone. 

You make your way over to an employee and ask for a gallon of the deep navy color, paying and making your way back into Harry’s car within a few minutes. 

Your knee was bouncing in anticipation on your way home and you didn’t realize until Harry rested his palm on it, asking you, “What’s got you so nervous?” to which you reply:

“Not nervous, just excited.”

Harry chuckled and kept his hand there for the rest of the ride to your house, which you found to be far too close then you wanted it to be. 

You both found yourselves in your garage loading your arms with painters tape and tarp to ensure your room is painted to perfection and not too messy afterwards. 

You spilled some paint into the tray and used a roller to begin putting the fresh paint on the middle of the wall. Harry gasps when he sees the color in contrast with the wood that covered every other wall in the room, “It matches so well,” he comments, using a smaller brush to begin on the bottom strip of the wall where the painters tape stuck.

He sat on the floor, his legs crossed beneath him, and you stood a few feet to his left, the paint sitting between the two of you. 

You nod, “I know, it compliments the wood really well.”

Harry shakes his head, “Not the wood. I meant it matches my eyes,” he draws out. 

You roll your eyes and let out a shut up before looking at him. 

“Seriously,” he persists, setting his head next to the gallon that sat on the floor. 

You raised your eyebrows and nodded slowly, dipping your roller back onto the tray, allowing the residue to fall off before you rolled a bit on his face and shirt. 

“What the fuck?” he laughs, sitting up immediately. 

“I had to check!” you exclaim innocently. “You know, now that I look, I think you’re right. It does match, we should use more,” you conclude. 

“Now that I look,” Harry starts, with an evil glint in his eye, “I think this is the color your shirt is missing,” he concludes, flinging his brush in your direction allowing the paint to fall on your face and shirt. 

“Oh my god!” you shout as Harry doubles over in laughter.

You bring your brush into the paint once more, taking a threatening step towards Harry. He flinches, making you chuckle and redirect the paint onto the wall again, making him breathe a sigh of relief. 

He begins again on the bottom edge and before you could think you're safe, Harry gets paint on your ankle from where he sat on the floor. 

You let out a loud gasp, “This is war!” you exclaim. 

“Or you can just admit that you needed a break,” Harry shrugs, “It’s quite simple.”

You narrow your eyes and look at him, “I am going to cover you in paint. It’s quite simple,” you mock him childishly. 

He shakes his head with a laugh before painting the rest of your ankle, making a ring around your foot. 

It had taken two hours to complete painting the wall and to complete your paint war. You and Harry found yourselves in your backyard while your sprinklers were spraying the grass. 

“Best way to clean,” Harry breathed out. 

“You say you’re one with nature but what are you going to say when my grass is blue?” you ask him as you scrub at your legs to get off the paint. 

“I’ll say part of me is really with nature this time,” he says shaking the water out of his hair as he walks towards the hose that was attached to the side of your house. 

You shake your head in disbelief, “I don’t think that’s how it works,” you say, looking at Harry as he walks towards you with the hose gushing water out. 

You step towards him and let him spray you down and you watch as the paint falls off your skin and into the grass, your shirt clinging to your body. 

Harry tries to keep his attention on your face and not on the black bra that begins to show from your wet shirt that stuck to your body like a second skin. 

You fiddled with the fit of your shirt, trying to make sure you were comfortable, before scrubbing your arms and legs clean. 

Harry and you had decided after the first hit that you would do your best to avoid each other's faces just to make everything easier when it came to cleaning. 

You rinse your hair fully before deciding you're as clean as you’d get without using a proper shower (which you didn’t want to turn blue from the paint), so you stepped towards Harry with your arm extended towards him. 

“My turn,” Harry says softly, handing you the hose before spreading his arms out and letting the water hit his entire body, “This feels nice,” he comments. 

“You’re crazy,” you reply. Harry shakes his head and takes his shirt off in an attempt to get everything off and you almost look away instinctively- you weren’t supposed to see your friend like this. 

He allows the pressure of the hose to get most of the paint off his body but he seems a bit carefree about the cleanliness of his body at this point- you’re assuming this is the distraction you both needed from your mundane lives. 

Harry finishes off with the hose and you run inside to grab the two of you towels, opting to stay outside for the rest of the night. 

You both sit outside on the back porch swing that sat in your yard, wrapped in towels so you don’t get too cold in the autumn air. “You were right,” you mutter, leaning your head onto his shoulder. 

“About?” Harry edges you on and you can practically hear him smiling through his words. 

“I needed a break.”

//

What felt like a year was only two months and in those two months you had accomplished what you had been attempting since eighteen. You finished what seemed to be the perfect piece from a technical standpoint. 

It told a story of betrayal and heartbreak and it included a plethora of twists in tone and changes in tempo and unresolved keys to add edge and lead the listener on. The piece, in theory, was among the most perfect ones written. 

At least that's what Harry told you and that's what you tried to tell yourself. 

You had just finished the process of getting it all recorded, recruiting some of your friends from the orchestra to take home your manuscript that you wrote in harmonies and new melodies to. 

You spent a week editing the music together, sending recordings back, asking for retakes, and adjusting volumes, tempos, and tone before you were satisfied with the music. 

All in all, it was a musically complex and fundamentally difficult piece that could be extended into a show or turned into a series of simpler solos- whatever would get your music sold to a publisher, you were willing to do. 

You had contacts from your previous attempts at selling your compositions, contacts that rejected you but told you to come back if you had something new. You did not take the suggestion lightly. 

You had mastered an email with your pitch- stating your name and your credentials, attaching a file of the piece, along with the score which separated individual parts and showed their dynamic together. It was your life's work and a story you were excited to sell, and that is why you were particularly excited when you received an email back the following week.

The email, in short, explained that a publisher would like to meet with you and is interested in helping you publish the music and help you get on the radar of a symphonic orchestra. 

You were a giddy mess leading up to your meeting, your leg shaking in anticipation and your heart beating so loud you swear you could feel it in your throat. So, when it arrived it felt surreal. 

You stepped into the tall building in a haze, your hands clutching onto your score and your body clad in your favorite orchestral dress that you find to be the one you wear to the majority of your auditions. You call it your good luck charm. 

The receptionist was short and directed you to the fifth floor and gave you strict instructions to wait to be called in by Flynn Bradford’s assistant. You sat in the waiting room with a warm overcoat covering your body in the meantime. 

When you got called up your hands began to sweat. You find your way into Bradford’s office and with a nervous step forward, you take your jacket off and sit down on the small chair before his desk.

“Hi, I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you introduce yourself with a handshake, Bradford immediately recognizing your name. 

“Flynn Bradford, a pleasure,” he returns with a friendly smile. 

He was a middle aged man with a few silver hairs peeking through, but he wore a friendly smile and seemed very composed nonetheless. He took your score and opened it immediately. He looked over it in silence for a few moments, you sitting on the edge of your seat. 

“I do have to say, Ms. Y/L/N, I was waiting to meet you so I could go over this with you. I think you’re a brilliant composer,” he speaks slowly. 

You swallow harshly, “Thank you so much,” you gush, “I’ve been at it since I was a kid so I’m glad you liked it.”

He nods again, sifting through the pages, “And I have to say I’m impressed by the tone in the demo and the overall markup of the piece. I think there are a few minor changes that we’d like to see done but all in all I think it’s good.”

You nod your head quickly, “Of course and I was expecting to do so. I- uh- how many changes are we thinking about here?”

“Well it’s still your piece, so quite minor ones just to increase your chances of having it sold to a school or a symphony. Or, you could keep it how it is but that might not be the easiest to sell.”

“Right, so hypothetically, if I get all the changes done and we’re satisfied within a few weeks, it can go off to you?” you ask in shock.

“It seems to be that way, yes. I’ll send you a contract and some markups once I get to talk with my team about this. It would be best to get your own lawyer to look over this for copyright purposes and to make sure you’re alright with all the fine print,” he advises. 

“Yes, I will definitely do that, yeah. Thank you so much,” you reiterate. 

He hums a reply and hands you back your score with a tight lipped smile, “So this meeting was a bit quicker and the other might be too depending on what you like and want. Remember all the corrections we send are suggestions so you do what you want and we’ll be alright with whatever you choose to do,” he reminds you. 

You nod and shake his hand once more, leaving the building with bright eyes and a winning score in your hands. 

The first instinct you had as you sat back into your car was to call Harry but you were so overwhelmed with excitement you decided that going to see him at his house would be a better idea. 

After all, he deserved to be the first person to know because he helped you so much when it came to the composition of this piece. 

You were smiling incredibly wide as you made your way over to his townhouse in the city. His complex was very modern, a clear juxtaposition to your victorian styled home, but you welcomed it warmly. You enjoyed the prospect of having a place to go that is more minimal in comparison to your cluttered property. 

It was hardly fifteen minutes before you parked outside of his home, your car finding its normal spot in the driveway of his garage. 

Your legs carried you faster than you could have imagined, rushing you to the front of his house and your hand pounded against his door with a sense of urgency.

Harry took his time making his way downstairs, a towel around his waist and an impatient girl he had hardly met waited in his bed upstairs. 

He opened his door slightly, allowing his head to peek out of the small crack he created, “Hey!” he exclaimed when he realized it was you. 

“Hi! Can I come in?” you ask excitedly. 

“I’m not exactly decent,” his hand scratches the back of his neck, “Can you wait down here as I get some clothes on?” 

“Sure, take your time,” you nod in understanding, allowing Harry to make his way back upstairs. 

“Who’s at the door?” the girl asks from her spot on his bed as Harry changes quickly into some sweatpants and an old t-shirt. 

“Just a friend, she should be gone soon,” he replies. 

“You sure? She seemed really excited to see you.”

Harry lets out a sigh, “Logan, I promise she's just a friend. And what does it matter anyway?”

“Well I don't want to be the other woman,” she pouts, “But if you say she’s just a friend then I believe you.”

“Thanks,” he called over his shoulder briefly as he made his way back downstairs to where you were waiting on his sofa. 

“So whats up?” he asks, “Want anything to drink?”

“No, I’m alright. I have some news, though,” you say, enthusiasm raising once again. 

“Okay, lay it on me,” Harry joins you on the sofa. 

“So I met with Flynn Bradford today,” you lead on, hoping Harry could understand what the news was. 

“No way,” he exclaimed after a moment of silence. “He picked you up? That’s amazing holy shit! Congrats!” 

“Thanks! You helped so much, I thought you had to be the first to know. And on Wednesday you can help me decide what corrections to add, too. This is all so exciting! It’s happening so fast!” you ramble quickly, standing up and pulling Harry into a hug. 

“No you did that all on your own! I knew they’d pick you up, too. So fucking talented,” he mumbles, returning your embrace. 

“Thank you oh my goodness! Okay, I just wanted to come over quick to tell you that. I have to work on some audition music so I’ll head out in a few,” you say. 

Harry opens his mouth to reply when you both hear his bedroom door open. Harry’s eyes widened in realization and your brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Harry?” you hear an unrecognizable voice, “You done?” 

You feel tears begin to well up in your eyes as you start to realize what was happening. He was with someone. He found someone and it wasn’t you. 

She walks down the stairs and your head immediately turns in the direction of the girl. You inhale sharply, trying to keep your tears in the ducts of your eyes as you see her in a t-shirt you know Harry absolutely loves. 

“Hey, uh Logan. This is Y/N,” he trails off lightly, waiting for you to introduce yourself. 

“Hi,” you smile falsely and extend your hand for her to shake. 

“Hey, I’m Logan. You’re Harry’s friend?” she presumes, looking at the two of you. 

“Yeah, we’re pretty close,” you pause, “Sorry, I didn’t know H was seeing anyone. This was kind of unexpected.”

“Oh that’s alright, I was going to leave soon anyway. Have to meet some friends for dinner,” she shrugged carelessly. 

“No, no, you can stay. I feel bad. I can be out in a few minutes,” you tell her with a soft smile.

She looked at you and Harry intervened before she could get a word out, “That’s alright, you can both stay if you want?” he suggested. 

“I really do have to go,” Logan trailed off. 

Harry quickly jumped at this, “Oh! Sorry, love. Yeah, go ahead, don’t mean to keep you here if you need to be somewhere.”

“I’ll just grab my stuff,” she smiles at the two of you and heads back upstairs to where you assume she was staying in Harry’s bedroom.

You and Harry stand in silence for a moment, “Sorry I should’ve asked to come over. I’ll go, you can spend some time with her before she leaves,” you finally stammer with a slightly wavering voice. 

“No!” Harry exclaims a bit too loudly, making you flinch at his tone. “You can stay,” he whispers. 

“That’s alright, I have to practice anyway,” you say in a rush, leaving his house at once without looking back at him.

// 

It was two days later when Logan showed up at Harry’s house with a soft smile on her face and her eyes filled with lust. 

Not only two minutes after Harry opened the door, his lips were on hers and they were making their ways upstairs to his bedroom. Logan had come to Harry’s for a quick fuck and Harry was there to provide. 

It had taken them a few weeks to get into a flow and get a general idea of each others bodys and needs and now that they were getting good sex, they didn’t take many moments to stop and catch their breath. 

There were a few moments, though where Logan knew she fell short of your company. She could tell with a quick glance at Harry that he was a lovesick puppy when it came to you and it became more and more apparent the more time they spent together. 

When they weren’t fucking, he spent most of his free time talking about you. The girl of his dreams and the funniest, prettiest, nicest, person he’s ever met. 

She had her hands in his hair and he had his hands tugging on her waist when his phone began buzzing from his bedside table. 

Logan sat up from where she laid, straddling Harry’s lap. He let out a soft groan and ran and hand through his hair as he checked who had called him.  

His lips fell into an effortless smile as he answered your call, leaving Logan breathless and unfulfilled. She resulted in getting up from his bed and walking out of his house once she realized it was you he was talking to. 

//

That following Monday, you watched as Harry made his way into your home, an uncomfortable silence encompassing the two of you as you sat on your sofa. 

“How was your date with Logan?” you ask eventually. 

“Oh, it was- it wasn’t a date,” Harry tried to describe, leaving you confused. Harry wasn’t one for casual hookups. 

“Then what was it?” you ask timidly, hoping for an answer you can understand. 

“Just meeting an old friend from college,” he coughs. 

“A friend?” you ask confused. 

“Yeah, uh, a friend,” he emphasized. 

“Oh,” you let out softly, “Why’d you get back with her?” you ask. 

“I don’t think the girl I like likes me back, so I wanted a distraction” he replies vaguely, turning on your TV in search of a new film to watch on Netflix.  

You swallow the lump in your throat before replying, “I don’t see why she wouldn’t.”

Harry looks at you for the first time that day, “Well she doesn’t act like it at all, so I think I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like me.”

“I think you should tell her how you feel,” you shrug, “What is there to lose?”

“A person who I value a lot in my life,” he replies almost instantly. 

You didn’t reply after that, allowing the film Harry chose in a haze to begin and you sink further into the sofa. 

//

It had been an eventful week. You had sent back your manuscript twice between today and your original week and yesterday you had auditioned for the live orchestra for the annual Nutcracker production. 

This had been your fifth year playing in it- you were very confident in your ability to get a spot in the orchestra- but it was the solo that brought you grief. Every year, each section had a competitive fight between musicians for the solos that are littered through the production. 

You found that the busy week that had followed you around became the main reason you were able to get your mind off Harry. No matter what you did he meandered his way into your thoughts and you were beginning to feel pathetic that your mood relied on him. 

It was when you came home from auditions on Tuesday evening when you got a phone call from Harry. You hesitantly picked up the phone and allowed him to speak first. 

“Y/N? You there? Can you talk for a second?” he asked. 

“Yeah, what’s up,” you reply. 

“I need your advice. I think Logan wants to start seeing someone but she won’t admit it to me so I don’t know what I should do because I don’t want her to hold back on it just because of me,” he pushes quickly. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Well why wouldn’t she admit she wants to see someone? She probably likes you, H, don’t worry. She’ll talk to you if she likes someone else.”

You heard a heavy sigh come from Harry’s end of the line as you picked up all your belongings from your car, your phone sitting between your shoulder and ear. “Yeah, I just- I don’t think she wants to tell me for some reason.”

What you didn’t know was that Harry was trying to prolong this call in an attempt to see if you would tell him to cut it off with Logan. It had only been a few weeks, and to be fair he hadn’t hooked up with her more then three times.

He knew he loved you but he needed confirmation that you liked him back. Logan insisted that you did but he didn’t trust her judgement as much as he trusted his own. 

As you learned through numerous conversations with Harry, he is a charming man, but he is also a confusing one. He isn’t direct and he seems to beat around the bush when it comes to serious things in his life. 

“Okay,” you say, confused, “Well just tell her that if she can’t be honest then she’s never going to be able to break it off with you. And if she says the same thing and you still don’t believe her just cut it off,” you advise selfishly. 

You wanted to help Harry, you truly did, but you were also a human. You were selfish and needy and you wanted Harry to yourself. So, you did what a selfish, and jealous, girl would do and you hinted at breaking it off. 

“Thanks,” he let out a huff of air, “Sorry, I have to sort some stuff out and I’m really stressed so I wanted your opinion about this,” he apologizes. 

“It’s alright. Let me know how it goes, yeah? I gotta run some errands but I’ll see you tomorrow?” you confirm. 

Harry hums in agreement and you hang up first, leaving him with the dial tone on his phone. 

The first thing you do when you get in your office is check your email. You were waiting on a reply from Bradford- you had just sent in another round of corrections and asked him for minor technical critiques to finish off the piece. You were proud of where it was and you were thoroughly in love with it. 

Just as you opened your laptop, you saw the taunting icon saying you have an unread email. You attempted to calm your nerves before opening it, preparing yourself for almost all senders. 

But calming your nerves turned into a loud scream. Bradford had replied and informed you that he loved the piece and accepts it as your final draft. He also mentioned that he will fax over the legal documents to look over before meeting with him officially and signing all the necessary contracts. 

Just as he said, later that night you received a thick stack of papers to sift off to your parents to help you look over and make sure everything was alright for you to sign. 

You bind all the pages together with a few paperclips and make a quick drive into the suburbs to give your parents the good news and ask them to help you find someone to look over all the papers for you. 

Your parents weren’t the most enjoyable people to live with but they were great to see in moderation. It was a large showcase of love every time you or Monica came home- they cooked, cleaned, and helped with just about everything you asked. 

So, when you arrived home, you got the full treatment. Your mom had cooked a nice dinner for you all and your dad helped you look over the contracts in their entirety as you waited for dinner to be served. You deemed the papers safe and the three of you decided you could sign on them as soon as possible and get all the proper licensing. 

You were overjoyed on your drive home and the moment you arrived back, you sent Bradford a quick email from your phone saying you can meet anytime to sign and that you had looked over the contracts. 

The following morning, you had gotten back a response stating he was free later that afternoon and you took him up on his offer to sign on the fine Wednesday. 

You met him back at his office, similar to the first time, and you had brought all the papers he had sent you, giving him a solid rundown of what you were expecting and negotiating royalties. 

You had taken half an hour to settle on a final deal and Bradford had gotten the contracts readjusted for you to sign. 

It was nerve wracking but exciting to be holding the pen in your hand and you signed page after page, ensuring your music could be sold and would be given proper care and proper copyright laws. 

“Last one right here, Y/N,” Bradford encouraged you. Your wrist grew tired but you refused to complain considering how much you wanted this and how long you waited. 

“Okay,” you grunted, signing your name sloppily and allowing Bradford to pull all the papers out from under your hold. 

“So, what this all ensures from our relationship standpoint is that we are the primary distributor and we will be helping with copyright and making sure you get your money's worth,” he briefs with a chuckle. He straightens out the stack and stands up with a smile on his face. 

You follow in suit and stand up at the desk, straightening out your pants, “Thank you so much,” you gush. 

“Thank you for thinking to work with us,” Bradford countered, making you shake your head. 

“Of course,” you say kindly, “And I appreciate all you’ve done for me these past few weeks. Been a huge help.”

“Oh it was our pleasure, Y/N. You're a wonderful artist. I think we all enjoyed working with your piece.”

You shake Bradfords hand and exchange pleasantries as you exit his office with a smile on your face.

It was the rush of relief that went through your body that helped you realize the gravity of what just happened. Your music has been sold and now has the opportunity to be in music shops, orchestras, and played all across the globe. And that was a great feeling. 

It was indescribable, to say the least. It had taken over a year to compose the piece and you had multiple failed attempts prior to this one. The piece you named Domicile was quite literally a love letter to your life. 

The piece went through the ups and downs of love. Domestic love, platonic love, romantic love. It was all encompassed in the piece you titled home. 

Written from the back of your mind, you had no idea how to articulate how proud of yourself you were. It was self expression and it was beautiful. 

Later that evening, Harry arrived at your home as he usually did. He held a small calculator and his laptop in his arm as he abandoned his car in your driveway and made his way up to your door. 

He knocked before opening it, knowing you always forget to lock it when you came home from work, and he followed the noise of soft jazz down the hall and into your office. 

The paint smell had finally vanished the room and he  found you sitting comfortably on the floor with your legs folded beneath you. “Hey, how was your day?” He asks, walking in and sitting across from you on the floor. 

“Really fucking good,” you grin, making eye contact with him. 

“Care to explain?” he asks with wide eyes and an encouraging smile. 

“Yes,” you say dramatically, “I, Y/N Y/L/N, am officially,” you pause for effect. 

“Oh come on,” Harry groans in anticipation. 

“I am officially a signed artist,” you squeal in excitement. 

“No fucking way,” he says softly, “No fucking way!” he yells. “I knew you would oh my goodness! This is amazing! We have to celebrate-” he rambles on. 

“Harry!” you exclaim with a giggle, “No need to celebrate this is enough!” you assure. 

“No, no, no,” Harry says, “We gotta do something. Even if it’s just a dinner with Mon and I. We gotta.”

“No,” you reiterate firmly. 

“Fine,” Harry says, “But you’re coming with me,” he says standing up. He extends his hand out and helps you stand before leading you to your living room. 

He gently tugs your arm towards him and he presses his chest up against yours. “Play it on the speaker, love,” he whispers. 

“Okay,” you say softly, pulling back and using your phone to play the symphony over your speaker system per Harry’s request. 

Harry smiled at you and gently put his hand up to yours, interlocking your fingers and holding you tightly. “Dance with me?” he asks with a cheeky grin. 

“Of course, sir,” you tease, stepping into his hold, his arms wrapping around your waist and your hands draped over his shoulders lightly. 

“I’m really proud of you,” he whispers, swaying back and forth. 

“Thank you so much,” you hum, “Seriously, you helped with so much of it. I really appreciate it.”

Harry ducked his head in a bashful manner, unsure of how to reply to your high praise, “I’d do it again if I had to.” 

You shake your head, looking out the window next to you two. The sun was setting and the sky was a painting of oranges and pinks, “God, Harry.”

“What,” he chuckles, following your gaze.

“I cannot believe you’re real,” you whisper, you hand moving to meet his jaw. You graze your thumb over his skin in utter disbelief. 

“Harry?” you call out softly. He was zoned out, staring at your profile. 

“Yeah?” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Course.”

“Can I kiss you?” you breathe out timidly. You don’t know where exactly you got all the courage that consumed your body at that current moment, but you were thankful for it. 

Harry swallowed thickly before his eyes met yours, “Yes please,” he whispers back at you.

Your hand that rested on his jaw caressed the skin for a moment before you leaned into his warmth. Your lips met his lightly, you pulling away too quickly for his liking. Harry looked at you once more before leaning forward and allowing his lips to meet yours heavily. 

You smile into his mouth, absolute joy coursing through your veins as he kissed you so carefully but so harshly. Your bodies stilled into the kiss, your mouths moving in sync slowly, absorbing every inch of each other. 

Harry lets out a small groan as you grind slowly against him, his head threatening to roll back if it weren’t for your hand holding his head still. 

His hands moved along your back comfortingly making your body melt into his expertly. You pull away again, Harry looking at you with dimmed eyes, you completely out of breath, “Songs over,” you whisper. 

“So restart it,” he replies with a small grin. 

//

Harry ended up seeing the full performance of Midsummer the last night it was performed at the theater. He apologized profusely and insisted he’d see the last of the show if it was the last thing he did, so you let him come and sit right in the front as he wished. 

Just as the first time, he sent you smiles of luck before your solo and a few more afterwards to show he was proud of you. Just as you anticipated, he is the best person to cheer you on during a performance. 

You knew Harry would be waiting for you in the lobby, so you held off on putting your overcoat on and allowed yourself to step out of the backstage area with your black dress and short heels, your clarinet and jacket in hand. 

He held his arm out for you once you became close enough for him to wrap his fingers around your waist and you walked into his hold, “I got something for you,” he tells you. 

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” you ask with a smile creeping its way onto your lips. 

Harry smiles at you before handing you the flowers that sat in his other hand. It was an assortment of long stem red roses, what he read to be the traditional rose to give after a performance. 

“Thank you,” you whisper in awe, your eyes meeting his as he looks at you. 

Harry hums in response and tugs you closer to his body before leaving a quick peck on your lips and pulling away just as fast as he approached you. 

You and Harry were confused to say the least. You had both confirmed you liked each other the night you got signed but you found it difficult for the two of you to label what was going on. Harry wanted it to be exclusive and you wanted to give it a trial run to see how it would work. And though you did give it a trial run, the two of you were yet to discuss what was going on. 

You assumed this would be like any other relationship you had been in- after a few months and a handful of dates, you’d consider yourselves partners- but this was vastly different. You have known Harry for a few years now and he has always been a part of your life. So what counted as a date and what was as normal?

Well, tonight constituted a date. Harry had told you before he arrived that he would be taking you out for a nice dinner after your show and to be ready for the best night of your life. You rolled your eyes at his antics and humored him by showing him the outfit you had picked out- the dress you found yourself wearing every Sunday- and a different jacket then you usually wore- this one more flattering for the body.

Harry nodded in approval at this and made his way to the theater, you asking one of your friends to give you a ride so you could go home with Harry later that night. 

Now you sat in Harry’s car with his hand resting on your knee, your hand covering his as he drives you both to dinner. He was clad in the same suit he wore the first time he saw you and it subtly matched the black dress and white coat with pleats that you wore next to him.

Harry informed you when you got in the car that he would be taking you to his favorite (fancy) steakhouse in the next city over. Before you could protest her told you it was in celebration of your final performance and being signed, therefore your protests would only further encourage him. 

“Will these flowers be alright sitting in the car during dinner?” you ask him.

“Not sure,” he chuckles, looking over at you, “I’ll get you new ones if they aren’t.”

“No!” you’re quick to stop him, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Well what if I want to? You gonna stop me from fulfilling my inner desires?” he asks you teasingly. 

You roll your eyes at him and look out the window. The soft sounds of Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac fill the silence as Harry exits the highway and turns into the parking lot of Del Friscos, the steakhouse. 

Harry exits the car first, rushing to your door so he can open the door for you. You smile at him as you step out of the car and walk in the building hand in hand.

The restaurant was dimly lit and had high, round booths around the perimeter of the room, tables with pristine white tablecloths among the center. Harry met the host with a small smile and a, “Styles, party of two,” before being led to a corner booth with you in toe. 

You smile at Harry as you slide into the booth, your hands making their way to the hem of your dress and tugging on it, “This place is really nice,” you comment your voice laced with insecurity. 

“Yup, that’s why we look really nice,” Harry reminds you.

“I feel like this is normal,” you chuckle, “I wear this every Sunday.”

“My girl looks this nice every Sunday and I never knew? Might have to make a pit stop Sunday nights too,” Harry compliments. 

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks, “I’d be alright with that.” 

Harry smiles at you as a waitress comes over and asks what drinks you’d like. 

The dinner was filling and well-made, you found yourself laughing harder than you ever had and eating the best food you’ve had in awhile. 

Harry held your hand as you left the steakhouse and he opened the passenger seat door for you, rushing to the other side to turn the heater on for you, “One more stop before I bring ya home,” Harry tells you. 

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Alright, where?” 

“Oh, Y/N, you should know by now that if I don’t tell you it’s a secret!” 

“Well it was worth a try,” you shoot him a smile, your hand finding its place in his. 

Harry hums in agreement, “Just know if I want you to know, you’ll know.”

You let out a laugh at his stubbornness, “Alright sir,” you say in a posh accent. 

Harry lets out an exaggerated hey before saying, “That’s what I sound like when I talk to my boss.

You burst out in laughter and Harry goes on to tell you an embarrassing story from the first time he met his boss. 

When Harry’s car reverses into a spot, your eyes shoot up in surprise at your arrival at the hardly-built riverwalk in your town. It was a new location and half the restaurants were still in the process of being built but it was still a nice place to go. 

You catch the door before Harry can, you send him a smug smile and take his hand as he tugs you gently towards the ice cream shop he seemed to be eyeing. 

The location was dimly lit with blue tinted lights and a few wall sconces that gave a warm orange glow. 

“How did you know I wanted to come here?” you asked him finally, coming to a stop and stepping inside the building. 

“It’s just about the only thing you’ve talked about for about two months,” Harry teased you with an accusatory finger. 

Your lips curve upwards as you exhale a laugh, “Okay, you got me there.” 

Harry smirks at you as you look at the menu before you, stepping up to the teen worker who looked far too tired to be awake, “Can I get a scoop of chocolate? And he’ll have,” you point at Harry. 

“Uh- I’ll have a scoop of vanilla with graham crumbs please,” Harry gives the worker a cheeky grin and wraps his arm around your waist as you wait for your cones. 

You smile in thanks as Harry pays, heading out of the building almost immediately to be met with a gust of wind and a lit up river beside you. 

Harry stays by your side as you both walk in silence taking in the scenery, eating your ice cream peacefully. It was a really nice way to spend your evening and you found yourselves enjoying each other's presence more than each other's conversation.

“Okay,” you swallow the last bit of your ice cream, “What’s your dream travel destination?” you ask.

Harry's eyebrows raise in amusement, “What, did you look up first date questions?”

You stifle out a laugh, “Maybe, I didn’t know if it would be awkward.” 

Harry lets out an exaggerated, “Ha!” before redirecting you back in the direction of his car, “That’s cute that you care so much.” 

“What and you don’t care?” you tease. 

“I care just not enough to google first day questions,” he pokes your side playfully. 

You laugh out a “Fine!” and redirect the conversation to your performance from earlier that night. 

// 

It was a full week apart from Harry and you were excited to reunite with him. Your week had been full with auditions for different parts in the Nutcracker every day so you found yourself unavailable to spend your Monday and Wednesday with Harry, having little to no time to yourself. 

Now, the following Sunday, the only thing between Harry and yourself was your front door. 

Harry was officially invited to your orchestra’s gala in celebration of completing Midsummer. You both had decided that Harry would arrive promptly two hours before you needed leave and you two would get ready together. 

He was lying down on your bed as you leaned over your bathroom counter in an attempt to perfect your eyeliner, “Don’t know why you bother with that,” you hear him grumble. 

You let out a chuckle and stood back to decide if it was even enough, “Me neither it’s too fucking hard.”

Harry lets out a snort, “That's what she said.”

You rolled your eyes and looked at him through your mirror, “You sure you’re not fifteen?” 

Harry smiles, “You sure The Office is only for fifteen year olds?” he shoots back.

Your face matches his and you lean into the mirror once more to perfect your eyeliner before moving to your closet to change into your dress for the night, prompting Harry to begin getting into his suit as well. 

Today, for the nicer event, you wore a nude dress with navy accents towards the bottom and a leg slit Harry thought made you look absolutely ravishing. And, in perfect coordination, Harry wore a navy suit with a white half-buttoned shirt underneath and his favorite red boots that reminded him of an old western movie you’d watched a few months back. 

He held your hand as you stepped out of your closet and let out a dramatic “Oh damn!” at first sight before spinning you around so he can get a full idea of your outfit. 

You fall into a fit of giggles and collapse into his hold and he sways back and forth, “I really like you,” he whispers.

“Yeah?” you reply with a grin, “I like you a lot back.” 

“Well how lucky am I?” 

“So damn lucky,” you tell him as you let out a silent giggle, “Come on, let's head out.”

The drive to the theater seemed all too short for the both of you. You were sitting in a comfortable silence enjoying each other's company on the way there, stealing a few kisses at a red light or a longing glance while Harry was concentrating on changing lanes during rush hour.

When you arrived at the hotel the gala was held at, you both found your way inside and to the tables that were set up with your names on small place cards. You both sat there in soft chatter as you awaited the arrival of your friends who were to sit at the same table. 

Eventually, you were met with a crowd of people around your table and your voices raised in volume and excitement. It was merely 8:00 when your ears were greeted by the sound of a disconnected microphone. 

“Hello, everyone, I’m Jordan Pennington, the conductor of the Midsummer Night’s Dream orchestra performance and I’m here to recognize each performer for their outstanding work over the course of these past months,” his voice cut through the room like glass. 

Jordan then went on to state each performer and his favorite memory with them through the course of the orchestral production. 

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Jordan introduced, an image of you as a baby and you now making their way onto the screen behind him, “Y/N is a strong clarinetist we are blessed to have in our group. She works very hard in the theater and outside and has recently been signed as a composer so I’m hoping I’ll be conducting her work soon,” he paused as people congratulated you. You didn’t publicize your signing, so a lot of people were in shock and impressed. 

“She’s been with us for a while so we have a few good memories with her at this theater but I think everybody's favorite is just about any time Y/N brings lunch,” he pauses as everyone starts laughing. You bury your face in your hands as Harry looks at you with a confused smile.

“When Y/N brings lunch she without fail trips on one of the steps and spills something,” Jordan informs. You let out an exaggerated groan, eliciting more laughter and Harry covers his mouth in an attempt to stifle his laughter. 

“Can we move on?” you call out.

Jordan lets out a laugh and obliges, moving onto the next person on his list.

You glance at Harry who is taking a sip of wine and you raise your eyebrows at him, making him nearly spit out his drink, “Sorry, love,” he coughs out, bringing you in for a hug, “Just sounds so much like you it’s impossible,” he tells you. 

You roll your eyes at him and continue to listen as Jordan goes through the rest of your orchestra. 

When he finishes, your food is devoured and the middle of the room is opened to allow people to dance. You glance at Harry and take his hand, reminding him of the night you first kissed, “Come on,” you mutter. 

He allows you to take him to the center of the room where some of your colleagues have begun to conglomerate and dance slowly to the tune of Ed Sheeran’s Thinking Out Loud, you two joining in the mass.

Unlike last time, you knew exactly how to act, your arms immediately finding a home around his shoulders and pulling him close so your flesh is against his. 

Harry smiled at this and squeezed you at the waist as a silent way of saying I love you, his head leaning in towards yours and your foreheads resting against each other. 

“How is it that we always end up dancing?” he asks you. 

“Not sure, I was never good at it either but here I am,” you chuckle a reply. 

Harry’s eyes shoot up in disbelief, “There is no way you weren’t a good dancer.”

“Swear on it,” you say, your lips tugging upwards to make a smile. 

“No. I refuse to believe that, you’re so good,” he says, his eyes shooting down to your feet and then back up to your eyes making you giggle. 

“Nope,” you say confidently, “Just found you and you were good. By association I’m good.”

“So what you’re saying is you found the right partner?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You fall into a full belly laugh at his antics before agreeing, “I found the right partner.”

[airashisakura]

Late submission for @fantasysasusaku SasuSaku Fantasy Week Day 6 - Soulmate/ Prophecy/ Reincarnation

Title: Embodiment of his Fate

Pairing: Haruno Sakura & Uchiha Sasuke

A/N: A mythology from my country had inspired me to write this piece. This was supposed to be posted during the event, but it got unusually long and took a lot of time than I expected. Also this first AU written by me.

FFN AO3

****

Part I

Sasuke — the lone wanderer — didn’t expect again to see the embodiment of his fate in green and pink. Even the gods were sometimes astonished, and Sasuke, the god of catastrophe, felt his world shaking when a pair of tired yet cheerful eyes smiled at him.

“Sakura?” he asked, every syllable carrying disbelief. He bit his tongue as the forbidden name left his mouth, because the Sakura he knew and loved had died long ago.

The owner of shining jade eyes and rosy coloured hair nodded at him. “I’ve been waiting for you, Sasuke.”

Her words echoed more than the thunderstorms he created. He had heard those words before rolling out from a certain pinkette's mouth. He recognised the ‌same words and her loving tone, but only in memories of a time long ago.

Was she the Sakura he knew? Was it an illusion borne out of his longing? Or was she a reincarnation?

****

Sasuke had always been alone — without any roots and attachments. He didn’t know his family or when and where he was born. He grew up in the darkness of the Ryuchi caves, his only companions being snakes. They were neither his friends nor his enemies, but he polished his basic instincts by observing and mimicking them.

Over time, Sasuke became an invincible warrior — one who rivaled Naruto. Over time, he earned the dignity of a God alongside Naruto.

Sasuke’s sole purpose was to destroy the imperfections and illusions, paving the way for beneficial change. His kind of destruction wasn’t arbitrary but constructive. He was thus seen both as good and evil and regarded as one who combines contradictory elements.

Naruto, unlike Sasuke, had a peaceful demeanor — being praised as God of Preservation — and nourished the world and its being. They worked in sync and ran the cycle of life — destroying the life which was futile and restoring a better life from the ashes.

Their ideologies were different, but they created a perfect balance. Naruto thrived on building bonds and made judgments with compassion, always forgiving and guiding misled souls. Sasuke, on the other hand, was more extreme — he always took an eye for an eye and a hand for a hand, but he wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t forgiving like Naruto either, and he claimed that his sense of judgement was always clearer. Sasuke despised Naruto’s philosophy. In his perspective, being enslaved to mere emotions would bring no good to the world.

Sasuke was pure consciousness, completely without pretension, never repetitive, always spontaneous, forever inventive, ceaselessly creative, and passionate about his actions.

One day, when Naruto and Sasuke were settling their arguments with a battle, Kakashi, a wise and mischievous messenger between Gods of Heaven and Kings of Earth, noticed how passionately Sasuke wielded his sword. The more Kakashi saw of Sasuke, the more he was in awe of him. His cunning mind bore a wish. He wanted to see how passionately this man could build bonds.

Kakashi knew Sasuke would be enraged if he approached him. Instead, he plotted a conspiracy. He went to The Creator himself — the one who created the world and appointed the protector and the destroyer. Hagoromo himself was amused by Kakashi’s proposal, but he watched Sasuke and saw the stillness surrounding him — the pain that Sasuke was unable to see himself. Hagoromo took pity and advised Kakashi to go to The Land of Fire.

Konohagakure, the capital of the Land of Fire, was prosperous and mighty, ruled by Queen Tsunade. The queen was strong willed and stubborn and feared no catastrophe. She had always been the one who harshly criticized Sasuke’s way of living and his actions.

Kakashi was a shrewd diplomat and knew he could never succeed in convincing the Queen to do what Hagoromo suggested, so he tricked her. He told her that The Creator himself wanted her beautiful kingdom to prosper more and had decided to present a gift to her. Tsunade was thrilled to know that, and the wise lady was unable to see behind Kakashi’s conspiracy.

A holy fire always burned at the heart of The Land of Fire. This fire was regarded pious because it had been burning since the beginning of civilization. The strongest of rains and harshest of winds were never able to extinguish the holy fire. The high raging flames were Tsunade’s pride and she believed no one, even The Gods themselves could demolish her Kingdom.

As promised, a beautiful adolescent girl emerged from that fire. As the girl descended from the altar, the mere touch of her soles made the earth more fertile, and her smile brought serenity.

People called her The New Goddess, and she was named Sakura. Her beauty was ethereal and her voice sweeter than honey. The shade of her eyes rivaled emerald and her hair was as graceful as cherry blossoms. Her laugh jingled with air as melodious as an angel's song. She possessed a heart brimming with compassion and love that melted even the coldest of hearts.

Tsunade, a fierce and strong tempered woman, developed a motherly instinct towards her. Sakura churned out love from the depths of the heart of the warrior queen. Tsunade found peace in Sakura’s presence and loved doing mundane things with her. Tsunade treated Sakura like her own daughter and doted on her.

As years passed by, Sakura bloomed, and she mastered everything Tsunade had taught her. Tsunade was elated and boasted that she would make her a warrior and queen like herself.

Tsunade didn’t trust many people around Sakura. She considered Sakura a precious entity and kept her hidden from the eyes of the unknown and evil. However, Kakashi was neither unknown nor evil, and thus he met Sakura routinely and helped her with her growing loneliness.

“What does freedom feel like?” she had asked Kakashi one day while her eyes drifted out from her windows, trying to see the boundaries of the Konoha.

Kakashi knew what she was talking about, but he remained silent, finding the best possible way to introduce her to the character for whom he had conspired everything.

“I want to see what’s outside those big gates.”

Sakura looked towards Kakashi, expecting an answer, and added, her voice fading, “And know more people.”

Tsunade had told her that she was destined to be the queen of this land, and so she couldn’t befriend anybody she wanted.

Kakashi silently mocked the situation. A goddess boon for a kingdom, bane for herself.

“Do you want to meet someone who can show you the real essence of freedom?”

Sakura nodded, her green eyes sparkling with eagerness.

Kakashi’s eyes crinkled at her innocence — how prophecy was working in the background, without her knowledge.

“There’s one problem though.” Kakashi rubbed his chin, squinting his eyes.

Sakura gave him a questioning look, and Kakashi said in a hushed, secretive voice, “He doesn’t like meeting anybody.”

“Huh? But why?” Sakura demanded, her voice two octaves higher than Kakashi’s.

Kakashi laughed at her innocence again.

“Oh! Tell me, where can I meet him? And would mother allow me?” she asked hopefully, fidgeting with the laces of her gown.

Kakashi’s relaxed face became serious. However, he knew how to outsmart the legendary Queen herself.

“Well, you have to go to Shikkotsu Forest.”

Sakura looked bewildered, as she had never heard of the place before.

“You don’t know where it is, do you?” Kakashi asked, and Sakura shook her head with a frown.

“Don’t worry. I’ll escort you there.” Kakashi smiled softly to her, but before Sakura could run down to tell Tsunade about her adventure, Kakashi interrupted. “However, don’t tell The Queen that you are going to meet someone. You know right? The Queen doesn’t like that.”

Sakura nodded again, saddened by the fact that she had to lie, but the thrill of the impending adventure washed away her guilt.

Kakashi then convinced Tsunade to follow his plan by pointing out that Katsuyu, the slug from Shikkotsu forest, had always served the Queen and for Sakura to succeed her throne in the future, she must know Katsuyu and Shikkotsu woods. Tsunade was convinced and, although unwillingly, gave her permission.

Dressed in the attire of a warrior and saddled upon a horse, she waved goodbye to her mother and the kingdom. The horse kicked the ground and started running at full speed, and Sakura wondered why she hadn’t thought of exploring outside the high walls of the palace before. She had always thought Konoha was a paradise, but as she crossed mile after mile, she realised the world outside Konoha was much more chaotic and beautiful.

Sometimes they slowed down, and the horses lazily strolled while she and Kakashi chatted. Kakashi would tell her about the magical slug Katsuyu and how she would be going to live in the wilderness. She also learned a little more about the man she was going to meet.

He is the embodiment of stillness and energy both, she had remembered Kakashi saying. His face carried a calm and stoic expression while inside he was chaotic and frightful. He remained still and unmoving when he reflected on his purpose, and yet he moved with a lightning speed when he executed his actions.

His stillness and energy both intrigued Sakura more. She had never felt so lively before, and as she reached closer to Shikkotsu forest, she couldn’t wait more to taste how it felt — how freedom looked like.

Almost a year passed, and Sakura had accepted Shikkotsu woods as her new home. Her silky hair grew longer and unruly, and she tied it up in a messy knot. The dresses she had brought with herself were old and torn, and she learned how to sew them. She spent hours after hours collecting food and grew more petite. What didn’t change was her radiant beauty and the mesmerizing smile that never left her lips.

She remembered her mother’s command clearly:

Learn healing magic from Katsuyu. When you become The Queen, it will benefit the people of the Kingdom.

Sakura never strayed from her routine with Katsuyu, gaining knowledge about the secrets of magical power that the slug possessed.

After that, she spent most of her time sitting on the wooden branches of a tree, looking towards the entrance of the forest. Sometimes she swung her legs in impatience, sometimes disappointment took over, and sometimes she mulled over her decision to leave the kingdom. She had waited for almost two years now and sadness took over her face when she realised the day wasn’t far when her mother would send an army to escort her back.

Although a goddess who could do wonders waited for a man and her destiny.

When Kakashi had informed him that a certain intruder had invaded Shikkostu woods, Sasuke had scoffed when he found a frail lady roaming through the forest.

“What possible harm could she cause?” he’d said.

Kakashi chuckled under his breath.

Unless cold-blooded God knew, she had the capability to destroy his ultimate defense of indifference.

Sasuke became curious and went to Shikkotsu forest to know what a princess was doing there. When he arrived, he found no trace of her and thought she had left. He was about to leave, when he heard a rustling sound behind him. He turned, sighing that the intruder hadn’t left. Before he could say anything, the same fragile lady had already released an arrow from the bow.

He hadn’t expected much, but even less had he expected to meet her in the middle of Shikkotsu forest with blood dripping out from his chest where her arrow had pierced him. A pair of perplexed green eyes pierced his onyx while he struggled to stand straight but failed and stumbled to the ground.

Sakura didn’t realise she had shot the man she had been waiting for instead of some intruder until she took a minute to tally the features that Kakashi had supplied her with. Chiseled jawline, one visible onyx eye and another hidden under his raven locks, a face that was sharp as blade, and an expression hard as rock. The visible anger in his eye and the scowl that marred his face was undeniably attractive.

Sakura rushed towards him, bracing him in her arms. She could feel his ragged breathing tickling on her shoulders as he mumbled, “Sakura?”

Her eyes widened, but before she could brace herself for the next blow, she spoke out, “I’ve been waiting for you, Sasuke.”

She was bewildered, and he was unconscious. She stayed still, contemplating the situation. They were meeting for the first time. They’d never known each other, and they didn't know each other’s name, yet how smoothly their names rolled out of each other tongues.

When Sasuke gained consciousness, he saw a mop of messy pink hair. Although he felt his blood boiling because never in his whole life had he been knocked unconscious, but the presence of the woman whose back he could see pacified him. He didn’t know how, but it did. His throat was dry and his lips felt chapped, and he coughed, notifying his intruder that he was awake.

Sakura turned towards her intruder, getting off from her place where she was crushing and mixing some herbs with a mortar and pestle. She offered him water and apologised for earlier. Sasuke’s sour expression told her that her apology wasn’t accepted. She sighed, berating herself for the mistake. She had shot the man she had been waiting for.

How was she supposed to fix this?

Her fingers trembled as she layered herbs on his wound. She could feel his heart beating, and it felt oddly familiar — like she was well versed with the rhythm.

“How do you know my name?” She broke the silence.

Sasuke gave her a confused look, and then it dawned upon him that he had never met her before. He was speechless, somewhat unable to explain and somewhat lost in her eyes. What was happening to him? Whenever he looked into those deep green abysses, he felt he was losing, and for the first time ever, it felt good.

One day while Sakura was nursing him, she shared with him the prophecy she’d been told, ignoring his gruff and uninterested look. Sasuke walked away from her, stating he had been alone since birth and intended to be that way. He tried to sneak out, but Sakura demanded that he should stay until he was healed. He didn’t want to comply because he never had to anyone, but somehow the concern in her face made him. It felt good — someone worried for him — someone taking care of him.

He later regretted his decision when Sakura became too comfortable with him.

He was on his side trying to get some sleep when Sakura asked him out of nowhere, “What does freedom feel like?”

He glared at her, irritated she had interrupted his sweet sleep.

Next when she was coaxing him to eat something, and Sasuke sat there looking outside at the falling rain without responding to her tantrums, Sakura huffed in anger, “Why don’t you at least talk?”

He couldn’t explain what he had felt when he saw her sleeping face under the moonlight. It felt like anesthesia — lulling his senses — sending him to a deeper state of peacefulness. All the years of fighting, slaying and punishing wrong-doers started to feel futile. He snuck out of the forest that night because he knew he would be destroyed if he stayed with her any longer.

Prophecy was working in the background, and something unexpected happened. He found himself again at Shikkotsu forest with, finding way back to Sakura.

“Welcome back.”

When he found Sakura smiling back at him — smiling for him — he felt he had made the right decision to return

He was fishing for lunch while Sakura sat beside him, gazing at the floating clouds. She asked, breaking the silence, “Does freedom feel like this? Being you and doing all you want.”

He turned towards her, and noticed a wistful smile playing on her lips and offered, “I will show you, if you come with me.”

Every god and demigod was astonished. They have never seen Sasuke, the lone wanderer, indulging in life, bonds, or attachments. Kakashi sipped wine while watching Sasuke fall passionately in love.

The news spread like fire, and it didn’t take much time to reach Tsunade’s ears. She was infuriated and commanded her army to drag Sakura back. Before Sakura could explain the unexplainable bond that had developed between them, Tsunade lashed out at her. She criticized both Sakura’s decision and the man who she had given her heart. Sakura was put under watch, locked up in a room as punishment for her actions.

Perhaps punishing her for the fate that she carried from the day when she was born.

The decision was hers — to be caged and become The Queen or to flee and embrace freedom.

She chose the latter. Chose the path that the prophecy had led her to. Chose the stranger who had tugged the strings of her heart.

In the darkness of night as the horse galloped, Sakura looked back for the last time, and the kingdom disappeared on the horizon with a new life waiting for her.

She had everything, yet she had felt empty. When she abandoned everything, she felt complete.

When Sakura stepped into their new abode, she found piles of snow and chilly winds blowing around. She had spent part of her life under warm sunshine and the royal ceiling. For a princess, it was difficult to adjust, but alongside all adversities, there was unadulterated love — love that had lifted the weight of expectations of royal duties from her shoulders. She felt like home, the feeling Konoha couldn’t give her.

Now she spent her days carelessly. Some days she would rest her head on his shoulder and look at the horizon as far as her eyes would allow. Some days they would travel, disguising themselves as commoners. And at those moments, she took liberty of her newfound freedom — forgetting she was a goddess — and mingled with people of unknown places.

And Sasuke let her be random and spontaneous — like him.

Perhaps this was the freedom she yearned for and had searched all over these years. Sasuke didn’t teach her how to live. Instead, his presence influenced her. She would sit silently and watch with awe when he stayed still and meditated or practiced with his sword.

The one who never knew the meaning of home had made a home at the top of The Three Wolves Mountain. Sasuke, who hadn’t known feelings, started feeling multitudes of emotions. Love and companionship were the words he had despised, but now he could understand why his counterpart, Naruto, bragged about them. Sakura made his existence meaningful, showing him beauty in the things he had often dismissed.

Her presence never became a chain for him, and she never overstepped her boundaries or meddled with Sasuke’s work. He still had a clear view of judgement, with a pinch of compassion that he had learned from her. He hadn’t shed his furious demeanor, but he reconsidered his motives before acting.

Sasuke as the world knew him had untamed passion, which led him to be extreme in behaviour. Sometimes he was an ascetic — abstaining from worldly pleasure. At others he was a hedonist — indulging every bit in marital bliss.

Living with Sakura brought him balance.

****

Part II

“Don’t you understand? You’re the future Queen. You can’t fall in love with someone who has nothing and is a lunatic murderer.”

Tsunade’s blood had been boiling with anger when she learned about the prophecy that had been crafted right under her nose. She had believed that her daughter was innocent, and it was just a filthy trick that Kakashi was playing on her until she had heard Sakura pleading.

“Please let me go.”

Honey-colored eyes filled with anger and hurt glanced towards Sakura.

Sakura spoke again, albeit afraid of Tsunade. After that, Tsunade didn't lock Sakura away. She wanted to test Sakura’s resolve — test her loyalty and love towards her and Konoha.

The next morning she was greeted with the news that the princess had eloped.

If she wanted to, she could have hunted her down, but Tsunade clearly remembered Sakura’s final words from their last conversation.

“I want to live with Sasuke… I don’t want to live here anymore.”

Although she allowed Sakura to become part of Sasuke’s life, she never accepted them, and she could never forget the sting of Sakura’s words. She hated Sasuke more for taking Sakura away from her.

After some years had passed, Tsunade decided to hold a festival in the honor of the good harvest that had sprouted from the Land of Fire. She invited every god and demigod, every lord across the nation, even the commoners and beggars. She wanted to share the happiness that she had lost after she had last seen her daughter. She couldn’t lie to herself that she still loved Sakura dearly, although she had disowned her from her heart and cared less about her whereabouts.

That’s the price Sakura would pay, she thought, because everyone was welcomed, except Sasuke and Sakura.

While Sakura and Sasuke were enjoying their routine of sitting together in silence, Sakura noticed a lot of traffic — the finest of chariots, all the lords, gods and goddesses going somewhere dressed immaculately.

Sasuke noticed she was distracted by the commotion. He knew exactly what was happening and where all of them were going, but he said nothing.

Sakura couldn’t hold back her curiosity and she asked, “What is this? Where is everyone going?”

“It doesn’t matter. We don’t need to go where they are going,” Sasuke replied, ignoring her.

Sakura knew the roads the others traveled led towards her old home. She became more restless, and she asked Sasuke again, “It seems like everyone is going to Konoha. Is something happening there?”

“Don’t bother yourself. We are fine here,” Sasuke replied curtly.

Seeing Sakura disappointed, he finally let out his biggest insecurity, “Are you unhappy here?”

“No, I’m happy here,” Sakura smiled, giving up on her curiosity.

The next day when she saw the same, she didn’t pester Sasuke again. Instead she stopped one of the chariots and asked them, “Where are you all going?”

They replied, “Don’t you know? There’s a big festival in Konoha, and your mother has invited all of us. Are you not coming?”

She felt totally lost when she came to know that she and her husband had not been invited. She felt disgraced and humiliated. She thought it wasn’t fair to her and Sasuke.

She was deeply bothered by this and decided, “I am going to my mother. Why did she do this?”

Sasuke said, “It doesn’t matter to me. Why are you getting worked up? We are fine here. Why should we go to the festival?”

Sakura was so insulted that she wasn’t invited that she didn’t want to listen to anything. Although she knew she had fled from the Kingdom without her mother's permission, she was sure Tsunade still loved her like she loved Tsunade.

She argued, “No, I have to go. There must be some kind of mistake. Maybe the invitation was lost. How can she not invite you and me? I am her daughter.”

Sasuke reasoned, “You left her for me. I don’t see anything unusual in not inviting you.”

Sakura stomped out of their abode infuriated, “My mother isn’t like that. I am sure she wouldn’t do this.”

Sasuke knew there was no point in arguing so he sent his most faithful snake Aoda as escort and pleaded with her not to provoke any incident.

When Sakura reached the huge gates of Konoha, she didn’t find any resistance, but the old familiar people were cold and inhospitable. She ordered Aoda to stay outside, and she walked towards the palace. She was trying to respond to the odd vibes that people were giving her by smiling at everyone while she made her way to her mother. The place and the people seemed to be changed, or was she changed? Perhaps Sasuke was right, but she was too stubborn to accept that. She ignored all the cold glares and mocking tones and went into the palace, still believing that there was some kind of a mistake.

“Mother,” Sakura greeted and bowed when she found Tsunade.

“Mother?” Tsunade spat back. Tsunade was furious. She never thought Sakura would have the audacity to show her face again and to call her mother.

“My daughter died the day when she turned her back on the Kingdom.”

Sakura was on the verge of crying out, because Tsunade made it clear that Sasuke’s words were the truth. She wanted to leave, but she didn’t. She wanted to know why Tsunade had always despised Sasuke. Why he himself, being a God, was not acknowledged by The Queen.

She asked Tsunade, holding back her tears, “How can you not invite Sasuke?”

Tsunade abused Sasuke in every possible way, and she added, “I will never have him step into my Kingdom.”

She could swallow her own pride and could take more insults, but she couldn’t stand more to her mother dishonoring Sasuke. Soon they were in the midst of a heated argument, and every passing moment made it clearer to Sakura that her mother was entirely incapable of appreciating the many excellent qualities that her husband possessed. She was consumed by rage against her mother and loathed her mentality.

The realization then came to her that this abuse was being heaped on Sasuke more only because he had wed her. She was the cause of dishonor to her husband. She was so crestfallen that her love had brought more hatred for Sasuke. Sasuke gave her love, yet she had brought him disgrace.

She was shaking with raw anger, tears welling out of her green eyes. She wanted others to acknowledge Sasuke like she did — pure and gentle behind his facade. She thought with her life she could show that to the world.

She didn’t want to be there, but neither did she want to go back to The Three Wolves Mountain. She walked towards the fire from where she was born. She didn’t want to live a life where her love bore hatred to Sasuke. Calling up a prayer, that in future birth, to be born in a house where Sasuke was respected, Sakura invoked divine powers and burned herself.

If she had to die and take birth again to restore his honor, she would die million times.

When Aoda came back and told him about what had happened in Konoha, Sasuke sat still for a certain period. He felt all the happiness, all the colors that Sakura brought with her fading — he felt his sanity leaving. How could he let Sakura go? How dare she do such a thing?

Sakura had given him love and a home — things that were unknown to him. How dare she leave for such an insignificant reason? She was his pride and honor, and he didn’t need any appreciation from others. How could she have misunderstood that? He didn’t need the pride which took her away from him. Thus he shed his sanity that was straining him to wreak havoc — he became fire. For the first time, he became disillusioned and decided to take revenge on the innocents.

Burning with incomparable rage, he used the mighty powers of his eyes and burned the whole kingdom using Amaterasu. They had provoked her to burn herself, hence he watched everyone and everything that had snatched his wife from him burn.

When the flames inside him and of Amaterasu had subsided, he realised how ungodly he had acted. He let his emotions rule over his actions, but hadn’t he given in to his emotions since he had met Sakura? Maybe he had always despised emotions, because he was afraid he would get drowned in them and could never manage to reach the shore again.

His work was to destroy the elements that couldn't be fixed. He was broken and his emotions were far from repairable. After the throes of romance, death and grief, he decided to destroy the emotions that had been born in him because of Sakura.

He had loved Sakura more than any and would never love after her.

He had allowed himself the luxury once and when it was over, he came out of it and went into an indifferent state again. He went into meditation for many years, deeply upset over the death of his wife, ignoring all his duties.

****

Every destruction acted as a progenitor. Within the barren and burned hectares of the Land of Fire, a small village was born after many years. The village was always covered in spring blossoms, and the people were merry, carefree, and had a profound belief in Gods and their power. They revered Sasuke most, considering him the progenitor of beginning that had given a chance to sow over barren land and produce bountifully. They were hard workers, but humble enough to believe in the grace of Gods.

Sasuke, unaware of the fact, still meditated, grieving for his wife. Still unaware that his beloved had already taken birth again...

Sakura was reborn as a human — the daughter of Kizashi, the leader of Haruno tribe and his wife, Mebuki. This time, Sakura, as she had wished, was born to a family where Sasuke was worshiped ardently.

Sakura, unaware of her past, the prophecy, and the tragedy grew into a beautiful woman. Many lords asked her for marriage, but she always denied them. She always had an innate feeling that someone already had taken her heart, but she didn’t know who.

When Kakashi came to know that the goddess had lost the memories of her previous birth, he appeared in front of her parents. Regretting the path he had taken last time, he confronted her parents about her previous birth, the prophecy, and the fate that linked Sasuke and their daughter.

Kizashi and Mebuki were overwhelmed with joy after knowing this. However, Sakura was skeptical about it and questioned Kakashi.

“Go to Shikkotsu Forest. The answers to all your questions lie there,” Kakashi advised.

Sakura, with her parents’ permission, went to Shikkotsu forest, and as she spent days under the canopy where she had found her freedom once, she learned from Katsuyu to whom her heart belonged.

The moment when she remembered all about her past, she grew restless. At once she left for The Three Wolves Mountain — Sasuke’s home — their home. When she reached there, she found Sasuke lost in meditation.

Years passed, but she waited for Sasuke to open his eyes and to look at her and realize that she was there — as promised.

But Sasuke was deeply lost.

Although a human this time, Sakura was still stubborn.

She sat there in spite of the bitter chilly winds that rattled her bones. She didn’t move an inch to gather food even though her stomach hurt from hunger. She didn’t blink her eyes in spite of how much they threatened to close because of exhaustion.

Perhaps love was invincible — the strongest force that again moved the coldest heart.

Sasuke opened his eyes after many uncountable years. Something that he couldn’t pinpoint had stirred him out of his deep state. He rose in fury. How could anyone dare do that? Wasn’t tricking him once enough?

He swore he would see the death of the person who had disturbed him. He walked outside to see a lady whose head and shoulders were covered with snow, shivering.

His brows knitted in irritation because no one had stepped in The Three Wolves Mountain except Sakura.

The lady straightened herself, feeling his presence. Sasuke wasn’t ready to listen to any of her justifications.

Because no had stepped in their abode except Sakura, and no one would.

****

Although he was elated to see her again, what Sakura has done was unforgivable. Sasuke was bewildered. All these years of abandoning his emotions fell away when he felt a surge of love and hatred, fear and longing, hurt and comfort coursed through him.

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to live with regrets and guilt earlier,” Sakura confessed to him, filling up the details of the past.

He realised the diamond mark on her forehead was gone. She was still beautiful and the smile he had longed to see was still graceful. Undoubtedly, she was Sakura, his wife. She was no longer a goddess though. She had sacrificed her divine powers for him.

He was scared to lose her again. He didn’t want to believe in the prophecy that had once taken Sakura away from her, but he listened peacefully to everything.

“This time will be different. Trust me, I'm not leaving you anywhere,” Sakura smiled, and assured Sasuke.

Who was Sasuke to defy her plea? Their love was weaved in the form of prophecy which defied cycles of lifes and deaths. No matter how far they go, they are bound to be together at the end.

[jungkookiebus]

Hellblazer  pt. 1 | jjk

Genre: demon!au, smut Rating: M  Pairing: demon!Jungkook x FemConstantine!reader Warnings: demonic possession, wounds that would correlate with a “possession”, minor character death, mentions of suicide, rough sex, hair pulling, face sitting, multiple orgasms Summary: “Few people really think about dying... paranoids worry about it without really understanding it. Victims of fatal accidents and murder don't have time to think. You only really think about it if you take the time to. And you only take the time if you know it's going to happen.” -John Constantine, Dangerous Habits Pt. 1: The Beginning of the End, Issue #41. Author’s Note: You can blame the concept photos from today. Also, a kind anon requested it. :D

The girl’s deep, otherworldly screams filled the room as you secured her hand to the headboard.

“Hold her down!” you yelled.

Three men were on each corner of the bed trying to hold the frantic young woman down as she thrashed and threatened to rip everyone’s balls off.

Just your run of the mill demonic possession.

Sweat began to roll down your brow as you fought her. You were strong and equally strong willed, but these men were either scared to hurt her or scared of her. Probably both. She gnashed her teeth in your direction, spit flying, and her black eyes were focused on yours.

“You’ll never fucking get me out of here, Hellblazer,” she growled.

“Oh yea? Then how come you’re letting me tie you to this bed?” you struggled out as you planted your foot on the edge and pulled with all your strength on the rope.

“Your blood is just like mine. Why fight us?” her growls filled the room.

The priest that was residing over this possession was tucked away in the corner, clutching his Bible as if his life depended on it, and maybe it did. The girl’s mother cried in the arms of her husband begging the demon to let her little girl go. Apparently, she had been possessed for months and when the priest was at a dead end, he contacted you.

Little did they know was that you were doomed to fail. You always tried, though, to redeem yourself for your sins; hoping that helping others would make up for what you had done.

When she was sufficiently tied down, you moved to your leather bag to pull out the relics you had brought. You always moved through the same motions, knowing what you were doing was right, but never quite getting there; a punishment in which you wish you could be freed.

The cross you held out in front of you pissed off the demon as it should since it was made from the same wood from Christ’s crucifixion, having been passed down through your family for thousands of years. Or so your dad had said.

“Sancte Michael,”

Saint Michael,

“defende nos in proelio”

Defend us in battle.

The demon writhed against its bindings as you continued the prayer.

“ut non pereamus”

That we might not perish.

“You’re going to hell with me, you bitch!”

She was pulling so hard now that the bindings were beginning to cut into her skin. Her eyes fluctuated from solid black to her natural green and back again. The veins were black and blue against her paper white skin, her hair was sparse where she had been pulling it out, and her body was covered in bruises. The demon was essentially killing her from the inside out.

“in tremendo iudicio.”

At the dreadful judgment.

Two hours later and the girl was gone. Yet another failed exorcism. As if you felt like this would go any differently. You told the uncle who was there to help it was probably because the demon had been inside of her for so long. At least it was half true.

You shielded your hand as you lit a cigarette, took a long inhale before holding it and releasing it into the air. Standing outside on the cobblestone street, you squinted up past the dim streetlights and up into the night sky. The stars sparkled above you, ever present and totally oblivious to the shit show going on down here. You suddenly wished that you were among them, burning until you exploded and became part of the universe once more. Maybe then your stardust would land on some other planet that didn’t see shit like that. But maybe there was a Hell there too.

Your boots clicked on the uneven, wet stone. Looking down at your watch you saw it was three a.m. The night was cool, it had just rained, and you breathed in deeply the fresh air. Your lungs expanded appreciatively, with no sickness, not anymore at least. You took another drag of the cigarette, noticing you were burning through it quickly. Your nerves were still on edge from the exorcism and you knew you’d be thinking about it for weeks before the nagging feeling of failure went away.  

“Hello, little demon hunter,” you heard from the shadows of an alley you were passing.

You stopped, frozen in your tracks, but it wasn’t uncommon for you to meet unwanted people…or creatures for that matter from time to time. You made a mental checklist of every weapon and talisman on your body as you swiveled on your heel. Clicking the safety off your handgun, you pulled it from under your coat and pointed it into the darkness. You heard the click of a tongue in the darkness.

“That won’t do much.” It was a male voice, smooth as silk but layered in heat. Hell had a certain dialect and you knew that lilt anywhere. You were the only human that you knew that could travel through Purgatory, Hell, and Earth.

You saw the shine of his eyes even though none of the streetlamps reached into the darkness and you knew the dreadful darkness was made even darker by him.

“Then come out if you’re so tough,” you challenged.

He was a beautiful sight, as were most demons you had encountered, but this one was different. Based on his clothing; black turtleneck underneath an equally black blazer, dark jeans, and shiny boots, he was one of the higher denizens of Hell if not a general. One you had never met at that.

“What’s your name?” you asked, not lowering the gun.

“Why would I tell you that? Just so you can banish me?”

You scoffed as you squared the gun right between his eyes from that distance.

“I told you that won’t work.”

“Yea? Maybe I have special demon killing bullets since you seem to know me so well.”

“It’s not like I can possess you.”

“But you can kill me.”

“I can ensure you that I do not want to kill you.” He held his hands up defensively.

You examined his face. His hair was pushed to the side, exposing his forehead and the smooth expanse of his skin. You noticed a few tattoos on his fingers and hands as he raised them, but you still couldn’t figure out who he was, and you usually prided yourself in knowing everyone and everything from Hell. It was the smaller demons, the ones that possessed humans, that you didn’t know. The generals and Princes of Hell didn’t lower themselves to possession unless it was someone they desperately wanted. You knew of one Pope that was possessed for his entire career.

“Are you scared, ____?” he smiled.

“I’m never scared of your kind.”

He made a face like he was hurt by your words, clutching one of his hands to his heart. You saw a crown on one of his fingers and a few other odd shapes you couldn’t make out. Who was he? Then you saw the sigil when he moved a little closer. It was a small brooch on his lapel, and you didn’t need to make out the rest when you saw the gold glint of goat horns. He was of blood in the House of Satan, but who?

“Please lower the gun?” he asked innocently. His eyes softened as he looked at you and he dropped his other hand to his side, the other still firmly planted over his heart.

For some reason your resolve deflated. Slowly, you lowered your gun and by the time it was by your side, the man wore a wide smile.

Such a pretty smile…

You shook your head, bringing up the hand still holding the gun to press the ball of your palm into your temple. Eyes screwed shut, you willed yourself to think logically.

“What are you doing to me?” Your breath came out a little more erratic than you would have liked.

He looked even more innocent, eyes almost on the verge of watering as he stepped just a little closer to you. The tension between your brows relaxed and your hand dropped once more. He looked a little more satisfied this time as he approached. The clatter of your gun hitting the stones didn’t make it to your ears. Around you, the world seemed muffled. It felt as if cotton had been stuffed into them. A passing car, a person’s laugh, and crickets sounded around you, but you were deaf to everything but him. You still heard his footfalls the closer he walked. His grin was turning up at the corners and for a second he seemed wicked and a trickle of fear ran down your spine.

“Poor little demon hunter.” His voice dropped an octave as he stuffed both hands into the pockets of his jeans. “That exorcism didn’t work. They never do.”

This time his smile was wicked, and you felt exposed. He looked at you as if you were something to eat while still exploring your face for any change in your expression. You tried to not let your emotions show. You knew exactly where this was going.

Now, he was right in front of you. Dangerously close as your chest heaved in mild panic. You felt rooted to the ground. The world was no longer muffled, it was hauntingly silent. He leaned in closer and he smelled like a freshly burned out campfire with just the slightest hint of sulphur. His cheek was a hairsbreadth away from yours when he spoke again.

“That little suicide of yours will never be redeemed. You’re too selfish for that.”

Heat flushed through your body as the panic set in. He placed his hand over your heart now, pressing into your skin as he felt your heart beat furiously in your chest.

“And I know your soul is no longer in here.”

Your mouth was dryer than a desert by this point.

“But your blood is just like mine. It sings to me and I’ve never felt that before.”

His hand slowly slid up your chest and to your neck where he let his hand lay loosely there. His skin burned hotly on yours, further providing evidence that he was more than likely higher than a general. The higher you got the hotter the fire burned.

“And I’m not so sure I like that quite yet.”

His voice contained a mild threat. You had encountered many a demon and even Satan himself, been through the circles of Hell many times, and heard the cries of those stuck in Purgatory; but this type of fear was different. You were in awe of him, but at the same time completely repelled. You weren’t interested in seeing him in his demon form any time soon either.  

His lips brushed your cheek as he turned his face. He wet his lips as he paused against your skin.

“But I’m more than willing to find out,” he breathed.

His grip on your neck tightened and you felt your body flush with a different kind of heat as your eyes fluttered shut. Why? you asked yourself. Why were you doing this? The rational part of your brain was starting to be overpowered by the irrational.

“You want to as well,” he whispered. “I can feel it in that soulless body of yours. You’re just as empty as me.”

You grabbed his wrist and he gasped at the coldness of your skin. Your eyes came open to meet his as he leaned away from you. They were no longer human, no, those baby brown eyes were now replaced with a solid black with a deep red burning within. A quick rush of wind surrounded you, enveloping you so tightly that you couldn’t breathe, your lungs constricted as you fought to take a breath, and right as your eyes started to burn, air filled your lungs as your back hit a soft surface.

You gasped for breath, enjoying the burn of oxygen flooding your lungs, before a pair of lips were on yours. He was over you and you felt an expensive silk blanket beneath your fingers. His tongue slipped passed your teeth and he moaned as he got his first taste. You dared to explore as yours brushed passed a suspiciously sharp tooth.

“Hmmm, careful,” he smiled as he pulled away from you.

He sat up, bringing you with him, and was slipping your jacket from your shoulders before you knew what was happening. He then reached for the hem of the sweater you wore underneath and pulled it up and off. Your mind could barely keep up as he examined you. His eyes focused on exactly what he was looking for. A scar. The sigil of Lucifer was burned into your skin over your heart. He ran his finger gingerly over it and you took his distraction as a chance to look around. You were sat on a large, four poster bed in an opulently decorated room. But it was so, so dark and not in just a way that you were standing outside at night, but the feeling was there as well. The shadows were omnipresent and seemed to be teeming with some dark fear. You could tell that there was a large fur rug before a roaring fire, but there seemed to be a dark gray film over everything. The only thing you could see in full color was him. He seemed to almost glow in the darkness, his alabaster skin absorbing any light it could.

“A deal’s a deal, huh?” he asked rhetorically.

He leaned down again, capturing your jaw in his palms and kissed you, inhaling deeply as he lowered you back down. He kissed hotly along your neck, suddenly desperate for more.

And you were more than willing to give it to him.

You grasped tightly at his jacket, feeling the metal of the brooch dig into your finger. He smoothly pulled the jacket off and broke away from your skin just enough to pull the last layer over his head. Blearily, you looked at him and noticed his chest was covered in tattoos, there were some runes you recognized, but beyond that you weren’t sure. They seemed to wrap underneath his arms and disappear behind him as well.

“Don’t look too close, angel,” he said as he dipped low, flicking the front clasp of your bra open, and attaching his lips to your nipple.

You moaned, chest arching, as he sucked on the sensitive nerve endings. His hand was on your stomach, fingers splayed across your skin as he pushed you further into the mattress.

Dread seeped through your bones when at the same time he was pouring warm honey into you. You were in the deepest depths of Hell. No normal human could survive here, but when you didn’t have a soul the effect wasn’t so bad. Regardless, you had feelings and right now they were so mixed that you didn’t know which way was up.

Somewhere in the mix of his wet mouth trailing across your chest to the other side, he had disposed of everything below your waist without having you notice.

Fucking demons, you thought to yourself.

His splayed hand was travelling downwards, and he was just on the crest of dipping his fingers under your hood when he stopped. He nuzzled his nose on your neck and breathed deeply.

“My sweet, little demon hunter. I’ve been wanting to taste you for so long.”

Your hips came off the bed, wanting him to touch you, but he kept his hand in place. He rose above you again, moving swiftly as he stepped off the bed.

“Up,” he demanded, motioning you to get off the bed.

He then took your place but this time he let his head hang from the bed.

“Ride by face, baby,” he said, hands reaching for your waist.

Whether he had planned this, or this was another one of his tricks, you were at perfect height.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you were the other way?”

“I want you to stand.” He was forceful as he grabbed your hips and pulled them, easily slotting you over him.

You gasped loudly as his tongue made contact with your clit. He pulled you harder against him as he sucked loudly on your clit before releasing it and laving his tongue over it. His mouth felt divine against you as you caught yourself on your hand. Your hips seemed to move on their own volition as you started to rock against him. He moaned loudly in approval the same time you looked between the two of you. With every other rock you exposed his glistening chin and strong jaw and you felt yourself getting more turned on. You ground harder against him mouth, rotating as he switched from stiffening his tongue to licking you sloppily. He sucked, licked, and moaned against you until you were shaking above him. You were on your tip toes, him chasing your pussy so that his mouth never left. You could see the prominent bulge in his jeans and you felt your mouth salivate at the prospect. Closing your eyes, toes curling as much as they could, and fingers digging into the silk, you came on his face. His moans almost matched yours as you continued to ride out your orgasm and he was licking up all your had to offer.

When your body began to shake with aftershocks and you flinched every time his tongue hit your clit, he pushed you off him. You landed on your back against the silk. He swung his legs around, stepping off the bed again and quickly disposed of his jeans. Weakly, you sat up and you physically felt your eyes bulge.

There was that wicked grin again.

“All fours,” he said, rotating his finger, demanding you turn around.

You flipped over but not fast enough for his liking as he yanked you to the edge of the bed by your ankle.

“You need to move like you want it,” he seethed between his teeth.

Your knees were almost at the edge as you got on your hands, shins and feet hanging off the edge. He ran his left hand slowly, soothingly down the middle of your back, hand creeping in your hair and you were about to lean into the touch when he grabbed your hair by the roots harshly and pulled back. At the same time, you felt the slam of his cock inside of you, and to the hilt. There was more pain right now that there was pleasure as he pulled you back against him, still holding you by your hair.

“Shhhh,” he whispered as he brought his fingers to your sensitive clit. “It’ll feel good soon.”

He cooed as you melted a little, pleasure coming back into your system as he rubbed small circles on the swollen bundle of nerves. He pulled out until he was barely in, bit down on your neck, and slammed back. Then, he started to move slowly, circling his hips every now and again to hit you a little differently while still rubbing slow circles on your clit. The skin of your shoulder burned as he bit and sucked, his sharp teeth surely leaving scars. His grip in your hair tightened as his pace quickened.

He gasped loudly as he detached his lips from your skin, eyes closed, cheek against yours as he gripped you tightly, thrusting into you faster and with more purpose.

There were so many sensations inside of you, pain, pleasure, fear, euphoria. The mix was intoxicating, and you found yourself losing yourself to him again. You were pushed over the edge and you felt a growing wetness as he pushed harder against your clit, rubbing and thrusting faster.

“Fuck, hng, ______,” he muttered as you tightened around him.

He was sweating and the slap of his hips against your ass was wet and loud, his chest seemed to stick to your back, but god was it hot.

You were slipping further and further. You wanted to beg him not to touch you, but he wouldn’t even hear you now. His breathing was heavy, uneven, and loud in your ear. His fingers dug into your scalp, skin burning as he pulled harder at your hair. His fingers, relentless, were throwing you into another orgasm that had tears streaming down your face. You no longer had the strength to hold yourself up, cry, or speak. His breath caught in his throat suddenly as he stilled, toned body rigid behind you as he came. All at once, his breath came out in a loud exhale as he moaned, body shuddering, cock still inside of you and filling you up to the brim. His cum mixed with yours, leaking out and down around his cock as he thrust a few more times. The sticky liquid dripped down your thigh and to the bed below you. After a few moments, he stopped. His chest still heaved behind you, but his hand in your hair loosened while his other wrapped around your waist. He kissed tenderly the bruises and small punctures on your shoulder, and you shivered at the contact.

“My little, demon hunter,” he breathed. “The taste of you is so sweet.”

You awoke to your alarm. Confusion settled in and you weren’t sure where you were. Pulling the covers from your face you squinted as the sun assaulted your eyes. You moaned as you rolled over, suddenly regretting the action as every muscle in your body protested. Every part of you ached in a way you had never felt before. Your neck burned and there was a slight headache between your eyes.

Was that some illusion leftover from the exorcism?

Fear, disgust, and a little of something else you didn’t want to admit washed over you as you turned to silence your alarm. Your heart stopped in your chest as your hand grazed across something cold. He had left his signature. Once again, turning the brooch in your hand, you didn’t need to examine it further to know there would be the golden goat horns.

He had been real. A demon of Hell had taken you as his own.