#every spring without fail! new beginnings

[keeps-ache]

so there's this place-

[unlosts]

two slow dancers, last ones out

Summary: Unrequited love and a wedding are not a good match, but a luckily you have someone there to keep you company.

2k words

The wedding fell into place like a house of cards tumbling down, in a rush and without much fanfare. JJs dress was lovely, because of course it was, a sea of ivory white twinkling almost as bright as her smile against the placid night air. Everyone was able to make it and despite it being planned with just a few hours to spare the night was as beautiful as one would hope. Beginning of spring ushering a new chapter and all that nonsense. 

Not that you were bitter about it. 

At all. 

Or at the very least you were trying really hard not to be, because they were a lovely couple. Will loved JJ, and JJ loved Will. 

The issue was that Spencer also seemed to love JJ. 

Again, not that you were bitter about it. 

After months of quiet pinning and frustrated yet unreciprocated glances you had called it quits, because it seemed like no matter how many 18th century poetry readings you attended with him, no matter how many early morning car rides or late nights spent talking in hushed tones side by side on the plane, you were simply never going to be the one he wanted. 

And you had come to terms with it. 

Really. 

The fresh heartbreak had been ushered out and been replaced by humiliation a long time ago, looking back you were sure everyone could tell how stupidly in love you had been and how utterly un-reciprocated it was. Every time you remembered how optimistic and doe eyed you had been about the whole thing, something bright and hot burned in the back of your eyes. It was all just so painfully juvenile and you swore you had left the doe eyes behind alongside your cheer uniform and locker combination. 

The night had an air of finality to it, you knew that in one way or another nothing would be the same again, and you didn’t want to miss it. Even if it meant swallowing your pride and staying with the wallflowers until closing time. 

It would have been easier to do an irish goodbye to the italian planned wedding and slip quietly out the front door but you saw Emily sharing a last dance with Derek and even spied Rossi watching over his hard word with suspiciously misty eyes and you knew you had to stay. 

With one hand wrapped over your midriff and the other held aloft, nursing a now lukewarm aperol spritz by the side of the dance floor, looking at everyone swaying to some old jazz ballad, the singer's soft crooning voice setting your teeth on edge. The feel of a drop of condensation traveling from  your hand through your forearm sending a chill down your spine. 

The gentle weight of a black jacket being draped over your shoulders snaps you out of your pathetic melancholy, the wedding suddenly snapping into sharp focus as the heady scent of a woody cologne blankets you. Two big hands softly squeeze your shoulders in a silent apology before Aaron Hotchner appears next to you, leaning against one of the white columns with his hands in his pockets. 

He scrutinizes you with clever brown eyes, his gaze softly traveling from your pursed lips to your down-turned brows and you know he’s got your number when he gives you a soft sympathetic smile. Just a quick turn of his lips that few people would catch, but you did, and the knowledge that he knows exactly what’s going on through your head makes you feel exposed all of the sudden, you slip your arms into the jack and clutch it to you like it could keep you hidden. 

But Hotch is … Hotch simply put and you know above all he would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. So he remains quiet next to you, only moving to press his side against you in silent comradery, the comforting heat radiating off of him seeping into you.  

“Want me to get you another one?” He asks, gesturing to your long forgotten drink. “It’s not often we get to free reign of Dave’s stash” You know he’s trying to cheer you up and you both know it’s failing miserably but you still appreciate the effort nonetheless. 

An awkward sort of silence falls between you both until you decide to ruin it, apparently. 

“So, where’s Beth?” Your question catches him off guard, he clears his throat and looks down for a second before catching your eyes. 

“We broke up, last week actually” He states matter of fact. You nod understandingly and don’t ask but he clarifies anyhow. 

“It was mutual, she had a lot going on at work-”

“Huh, go figure”

“and I was” he hesitates “preoccupied” He doesn’t seem to be distraught, telling you like he would the details of a case, objective and to the point. 

“Ahh, so you decided to join the singles corner, welcome we meet every Thursday” You raise your glass in a mock toast before finally putting it down on a nearby table. 

Hotch raises his eyebrows and it’s all it takes for you to deflate. 

“Sorry, you were being nice and I was just bitchy” You sigh, frustrated and maybe a little bit tipsier than you’d like. 

“That’s okay, you’re sad, it happens to the best of us”

“Even you?” 

He just lets out a self deprecating laugh before handing you a glass of scotch from a passing waiter. 

“You saw me after the divorce, I distinctly remember going into a burning house so I would say a couple of drinks more than you’re used to at a wedding of all places isn’t the worst way to go about it” 

“That’s different, you were married this is just…pathetic” There was no point dancing around it anyway, you both knew he was fully aware of what you were talking about. 

“Well someone once told me that as much as we’d like to, sometimes we have to sit in those feelings before they can go away” 

“What a load of new age shit, whoever told you that was a quack” You smile at him anyway, pleased that even after all this time he remembered that. 

“Hmm, I happen to think it was useful,” Hotch replies, taking the scotch from your hand and finishing it off. 

“Any more pearls of wisdom this oh so sage one imparted upon you?”

“Yes, other times the only thing you can do is pretend that everything is alright for a couple of minutes” He says, extending his hand towards you and gesturing towards the dance floor “what do you say?” 

“You should stop listening to her” You reply but still accept, his hand engulfing yours as he expertly leads you through a sea of couples until you’re far enough that you can’t really see anyone else from your team. 

He takes you into his arms, one goes to your back and the other takes you hand into his ,you're still wearing his jacket so you just rest your head against his chest and close your eyes. 

“...so” You say softly, your words muffled against his shirt. With your eyes closed and your head resting against his chest, you’ve given up dancing and are just content to be cocooned in his arms while he gently sways you both to the tune of the music. Whatever is playing now has long faded to the edge of your conscience, sounding far away. 

“Have you ever considered doing all of this again?” 

“Getting married?” This close together his voice reverberates pleasantly through your whole body, it feels as if you’ve both stepped into someone else’s wedding and you know each other here. 

“Yeah”

“What, you had your turn in the hot seat and now it’s my turn?”

“Yeah” 

After a beat he says admits it so softly that you have to strain to hear him properly

“I would have wanted to”

He had long ago decided to settle for the life he had, being a father had to come first, the rest was something he no longer got to want. Or something he wouldn’t admit he still wanted anyway. 

You raise your head briefly to look up at him, his tone sobering you up, because you know him, know what he meant. If you had looked just behind Hotch towards the other edge of the dance floor you would have caught Spencer's inquisitive gaze or Penelopes’ delighted one. But you don’t, you’re laser focused on Hotch searching in his eyes for something you can’t quite grasp, a way to convey that he needs to stop atoning for something he shouldn’t fault himself for in the first place. 

You fist your hands on the front of his shirt briefly before smoothing out the wrinkles with your palms.

“I didn’t ask about before, I’m asking about you now” 

“It’s not that easy” 

“It’s a yes or no question, so yes it actually is” 

He tilts his head back in frustration, looking up at the night sky like he’ll find the exact words he wants to use spelled for him. 

“That’s not something I get to want anymore” “You can’t punish yourself forever” 

He begins to say something but you cut him off before he can, his hands tightening around your waist

“Nor should you try” He gulps and looks away giving in “think whatever you want to think but I know you and I think you deserve to be happy again” 

“I thought you said I shouldn’t listen to you” 

“Momentary lapse in judgment”  You reply with a teasing smile, not wanting to fully fuck up his night “so?” 

“...Yes”   Somehow the admission of desire feels like a betrayal and a confession at the same time. Both freeing and terrifying. 

 You go back to swaying together, in sync with one another and standing out against the livelier rhythm of the couples around you. 

From this vantage point you study his profile, from his strong nose to his thick lashes and back to his jaw. You never really paid attention to him but right now under the tea lights it dawns on you how handsome he is. 

“What about you?” 

“Oh I’m joining a convent” He chuckles and you feel it move through you. It’s a rare sound nowadays. 

“You’ll find someone” Hotch says with a certainty you wished you could have

“That’s just what you say to make people feel better, it’s up there with yes those bangs look great on you or like when you tell little kids that they can be astronauts or whatever” 

“I know you’ll find someone because I don’t think anyone could meet you and not realize how extraordinary you are” He says in an almost whisper. 

“There is someone who, categorically, doesn’t realize it, in this very same room” 

“Could be he didn’t know you as well as you’d think”

“Could be” You concede. 

Some time has passed now, although you can’t pinpoint exactly how long, it feels like the rest of the world went quiet and this is all that’s left. The sweet honeyed lilies, fresh jasmines and heady sweet daffodils of the garden are in full bloom. The night sweetly perfumed as the petals gently swayed to and fro.

From across the garden you can see JJ slow dance with Will, he’s saying something to her and she’s all smiles.  You let your humiliation melt into fondness, the warmth you felt for her pulling you out of your melancholy. New beginnings and all that. 

[tsumtsumrry]

Favorite Holiday

this follows harry and a cutie (you) through some of your favorite holidays as you guys navigate a little fun friends with benefits/situationship stitch. i feel like this took forever so sorry for my near disappearance but i hope you enjoy!! <3

**disclaimer** i'm american so i have the dates (e.g. 11/24/23) month/day/year format. just to avoid any confusion!! <3

WC: 12k.

warning(s): afab descriptions and she/her pronouns, language, multiple instances of smut (fingering, phone sex, f receiving oral use of a vibrator, unprotected don't do it p in v), barely proofread cause i was too excited to finally post it, and a bit of angst.

March 20th, First day of Spring.

The holidays were always your favorite time of year. Every single one for that matter. Every holiday has its own special place in your heart. New Years, Easter, Christmas, etc. You loved them all the same. But you looked forward to them even more so this year. Because this year you had Harry. 

Harry, who was sitting across from you right now, laughing as he animatedly tells one of his horrible but adorable jokes. You have the stupidest grin on your face, with your eyes set on how his lips form the words coming out of his mouth. You can’t seem to look away. It doesn’t help that he keeps sneaking glances at you, those suggestive eyes that only you know burning into your face. 

He plans to take you home tonight, you can tell. You two have been going at this for months, the no-strings-attached sex thing. You think it’s easy enough. There’s never been any real difficulties, just the fact that you’re trying to keep it discreet. 

The first kiss was at the New Years party. You were both tipsy, he confessed that he always had a little fixation on you and how you looked in “all those pretty outfits you like to wear” and you confessed that him and his “fancy british accent”, “pretty tattoos”, and “ridiculously charming personality” never failed to have you imagining kissing those incredibly soft looking lips. 

He looked at you for a second, his gaze moving from your lips to your eyes as if he was trying to gauge where your head was at. Then, at the perfect timing, the clock turned twelve and your lips were intertwined. The rest is history. 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you bite your lip, fighting hard to hide the smile that threatens to overtake your face. You know exactly who it is. 

You pull your phone out and smirk when you read it. 

H 11:34PM

Need you tonight, baby.

It’s been too long since he’s touched you, you missed it so much and he couldn’t go another day without you. You look around a little, trying to make sure no one is looking at your phone (only making yourself look more suspicious in the process) and then begin typing back. 

You 11:36PM

And what do you suppose I do about that?

You look up at him when you know he’s seen the message. You smirk at him and he gives you a look that says ‘you know damn well’ but he texts back anyways. 

H 11:37PM

Come to mine tonight. Let me fuck you.

As soon as you read the text your stomach erupts with butterflies, you always have an instant reaction to his words. You press your thighs together and try your best not to squirm. 

He doesn’t need to know that though, so you answer with a simple, 

You 11:40 PM

Ok.

You push your phone right back into your pocket and try your best to continue with the conversation that’s getting passed around the table. But thoughts of him keep creeping in. Thoughts of his voice in your ear, the feeling of him inside of you, stretching you and filling you, his hands gripping you roughly or gently, depending on how you feel, all you can think about is him. 

“It’s getting late, you guys. I’m exhausted. Loved seeing you all.” you finally say, not being able to take much more of wanting something when it’s literally right in front of you and not being able to just take it. 

“Me too. Got an early morning. See you.” Harry says after you, looking at you not-so-discreetly as he gets his stuff. 

When you’re both outside he instantly pulls you away from the windows and kisses you. It’s hard and passionate and needy and it’s almost like he―

“Missed you.” he says in between kisses, his hands going to grip your waist tightly, like he’s yearning for the skin to skin contact. 

“Yeah?” you whisper, tugging on his bottom lip which earns you a pained groan. 

“Fuck. Mhm. Missed you so much. You smell good.” 

You giggle at his admission about your scent and decide to spur him on even more. 

“Show me. Take me home, H.” 

Waking up next to Harry is something you simultaneously love and wish you never got to experience. Because when this little arrangement is over, you know you’ll miss it too much. 

When he wakes up, he doesn’t treat you like his fuck buddy, he treats you like some sort of girlfriend. And you haven’t let it detrimentally affect you yet, but you know it will. And the day it does is when you’ll know you need to end this. End it before someone, scratch that, you get hurt. 

“Mornin’, angel. Want some breakfast?” he says, his voice gravelly but also smooth like toffee and it sounds weird but you want to taste it. 

“Mhm. Whad’ya making?” you mumble, eyeing his lips. 

“Whatever you want. Kiss?” 

You smile and lean up to kiss him, taken by surprise when he deepens it and pulls you over his lap. You giggle into the kiss and he smiles with a short chuckle. 

“Want anything before I go make it?” he says, obviously trying to start something. 

“Harry…” 

“Just asking, sweetheart. You know I always want you.” he says with a kiss to your collarbone, “only you” he says softly as if it wasn’t meant to be heard.

“Stop trying to sweet talk me. Go make breakfast.” You push yourself off him and he whines, but obliges, going to make that lovely french toast he knows you want.

You sit up to look through some emails when you hear it, his phone buzzing incessantly on his counter. 

You know it shouldn’t bother you, you’re just friends who happen to enjoy each other's sexual company. The idea of him having someone else that he whispers sweet nothing to in his ear just doesn't feel right to you. 

You pick up the phone, keeping it face down, (not wanting to see something you know you don’t want to) and walk to the kitchen where Harry is mixing some yummy smelling batter. 

“Think someone is trying to reach you.” you try to come off as cool and collected, and you almost convince yourself that you are, but you know you’re not. You curse your sensitivity and watch as he picks up the phone but puts it back down, face down, just as quickly. 

“Makin’ your favorite.” He rasps out, turning around to smirk at you. He frowns when your expression isn’t one of your usual excitement. 

“You okay, baby?” he inquires, setting the bowl of batter down on the counter and walking over to you. He takes your hands in his and playfully looks into your eyes with faux intensity, “tell me.” 

“I’m okay, yeah. Just tired.” It’s only now that you actually wonder how many times you’ve told that lie. 

“Worked you over good last night, hmm?” He smirks and you roll your eyes and smile despite yourself, “you sounded like you were having a good time.” he adds cheekily and before you can stop it a giggle breaks from your lips. 

“I was.” His ability to make you feel like everything is okay with just a cheeky smile and a couple of words breaks you and mends you at the same time. 

“Good girl.” he whispers against your lips, kissing you slowly and softly. 

“Back to the food!” he exclaims, breaking away from you to saunter back over to the counter-top. 

“Wanna be my sous chef?” 

April 1st, April fools.

You never understood the fixation with men’s hands until you started sleeping with Harry. 

“Fuck.” he drags out the vowel sound as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, stroking your g-spot in a way you can only describe as affectionately rough, “look at you princess, taking my fingers so fucking well.” 

“H..fuck I—” you’re cut off by your own loud moan, praying that no one can hear you two. Your friend group planned a little get together given the fact that it’s april fools and you guys have nothing better to do. You all decided to host it at Harry’s place and he lasted about ten minutes trying to be a good host before he dragged you into the bathroom with a phony excuse that you’re almost sure nobody believed. 

When you reach up to cover your mouth, he tuts softly and reaches up to tap three fingers against your hand, signaling he wants it off, “s’my fucking house we can be as loud as we want. You know how much I love your pretty sounds, why’re you trying to keep ‘em from me, huh? Being bad?” he says in that condescending tone that you simultaneously love and hate.

“N-no, please H. M’not being bad jus-just please.” 

“Love it when you beg. Soaking me like this and I’ve only given you two fuckin’ fingers–” 

“Gonna cum.” you interrupt him with your frantic moan, he’s always very adamant about you asking for permission. He needs to be in control like that. He needs to have that control over your body and your pleasure. He thrives on it. “Can I please, please cum?” 

“Fuck. You’re sqeezin’ me so fucking tight. Gonna make a mess all over my fingers, baby? Give it to me.” 

“Yes, yes yes” you feel that white hot pleasure building in what feels like every nerve in your body and your muscles start to jerk as you cope with all the pleasure overriding your system. You ramble out a couple praises mixed in with Harry’s name and your hand tangles in his hair which he groans at. You pray to every god that you can think of that nobody downstairs can hear the way he’s ruining you. 

“There you go, baby.” he doesn’t stop with his fingers, keeping a rhythm that only intensifies your release. When you choke on a moan that sounds more like a sob, he kisses your temple gently and soothes you with his voice, “I know, I know. Feels too good, doesn’t it?” 

You’re not sure if he expects a response, but even if he did you’re not in any state to give one. His fingers have turned your brain into a mushy mess.

“You’re okay darling. Always making me so proud.” He whispers as you come down, slowly pulsing his fingers inside you still to help you ride it out. 

“Jesus christ.” you sigh and he chuckles softly. 

“What was our excuse again?” he asks before leaning down to your lips to kiss you, his kiss full of the lust that’s swimming in his forest eyes. 

“Dunno, something about getting the movies that we were gonna watch,” you giggle softly against his lips and he smiles. 

You get some movies from his bedroom so that you don’t seem too suspicious and go back downstairs to your friends. The heat of embarrassment makes itself known every time someone asks you or Harry what took so long or what distracted you up there. 

“What could you guys possibly have been doing for eight whole minutes?” a friend of yours asks incredulously with a joking tone. 

“We couldn’t find the movie we wanted. Duh.” Harry shoots back with a quickness, smirking softly when he looks over to you. And he can read your body like a book. He knows you’re a little embarrassed at the idea of people finding out that you guys have been fooling around. 

You’re playing with the lobe of your ear as everyone takes in Harry’s response and laughs. Someone tells another joke that just amplifies the laughter but Harry’s only looking at you. Playing with the lobe of your ear is one of your many obvious tells with your anxiety. He makes  a mental note to check on you later. 

During the movie he plops himself right in between you and one of your friends, making both of you giggle. He swings his arm around your shoulder and leans down to whisper in your ear. The heat and tickle of his whisper sends a shiver down your spine and you know that the position you guys are in is less than discreet but you can’t really find it in yourself to care when he’s close like this. “You okay?” he asks in an earnest tone, his hand gently squeezing your shoulder for good measure. You nod softly and he smiles, softly tugging you closer. 

April 9th, Easter.

Easter was always a fun holiday, especially for your god children, you always loved to see the little kids run around in search of the little painted eggs. It reminded you of a time when you were in their position, blissful and young. You often refer to those as the ‘good old days’, but you can’t quite complain about how you ended up.

You’re talking to your sister’s baby boy when your phone rings, you pull it out to see a picture of Harry sleeping in bed and you smile, you remember when you took that picture. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi, pretty. Where are you?” he sounds kind of breathless, like he’s been running a mile.

“At an Easter egg hunt. You?”

He chuckles darkly before speaking. “Dunno. Just missin’ you.” he says. You squint your eyes in suspicion.

“Missing me?” you say with the same suspicion laced in your voice. You’re starting to understand what he’s playing at. 

“Missing your sweet cunt. God, the way you taste. Need you on my tongue.” he spews out in what seems like one breath. 

“Jesus Christ, Harry. What has gotten into you?” you hiss, quickly getting up out of your seat and away from prying eyes and ears. 

“God, I can almost imagine it.” you hear his whisper and the neediness radiating off of his voice makes you press your thighs together. He’s touching himself. He’s fucking his hand to the thought of your taste and it’s driving you mad. “Want you to sit on my face next time, have your thighs shaking around my head, your pussy drenchin’ me―fuck!” he whimpers. 

“Harry…” you say, it’s supposed to be some type of warning but the arousal starting to pool in your underwear has your voice coming out shaky and unstable. 

“Love it when you say my name like that. Again. Say it again, please baby.” he begs, shamelessly. You can tell he’s close, the strain in his voice, the crackly over-the-phone sound of the wetness of his strokes.

“Harry I―”

“Fuck fuck fuck, I fuckin’ need you. Please, please.” he keeps whispering the word “please” under his breath, gasping out moans and whines, “gonna cum, gonna cum.” 

You decide there's no harm in spurring him on a bit, “come for me, Harry.” 

You hear a broken “fuck” before a series of his beautiful sounds fill your ears. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught of stimulation, butterflies swarming around in your tummy. 

“Fuck.” 

“Yeah fuck.” you whisper and you hear his laugh on the other end. 

“Sorry―Sorry I um― called you like that. I just, fuck, really needed you. Was so fuckin’ hard. Y’have no idea.” he breathes out. 

“I…um. I missed you too.” you don’t know why you cringed at yourself after saying it, but it’s almost like Harry can read your mind because he chuckles and speaks in a reassuring tone, “that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. When will I see you again missy?” 

“Dunno. I’ve been a little busy with work and…stuff. I’ll have my people call your people to see when I can fit you into my schedule.” you joke, biting your lip softly and toying with your necklace as you wait for his response. 

When you hear a soft laugh a smile is immediately brought to your face. That laugh could melt you. His voice is like velvet when he speaks, “I’ll have you soon. We both know you can’t stay away. You need me for my slutty waist and washboard abs as you usually say.” 

You try your best to hold in your laugh so as to not inflate his ego, but it slips out before you have permission and both of you are laughing before you feel a delicate tap on your leg. You’re met with your nephew when you turn around and look down to find the source of the touch. 

“Can we pway more bunnies?” your nephew says to you and you nod softly, “just give me one second honey.” He nods and walks back to the place you guys were sitting and you smile as you watch him. 

“I’ve gotta go but I’ll text you, alright?” 

“See you soon, petal.” 

May 31st, Memorial Day.

“That kiss the cook apron is really working for you, Harry I’ve got to say.” you giggle at your friend Jamal’s shout at Harry. 

It’s another one of your favorite holidays and you and your friends are all at the beach. The sun is beaming on your skin and warming you in the best way while the breeze balances it out, cooling you in the places needed. “Take it off! Take it off!” you join the chant, having trouble even speaking in between laughs. 

“You guys are fucking ridiculous” Harry chuckles. He smirks and reaches behind him to pretend to take the apron off, laughing when everybody’s cheers get louder. 

When the food is done and everyone is full, the girls lay on the sand while the guys are across from you guys making sandcastles like children. You look over at Harry and feel your stomach twist in a way that it’s been doing recently that you can’t stand. He just looks so good. You don’t know how else to explain it. Especially in this light, the warm sunset creating a golden glow against him. The soft amber tones kissed his skin and the sunshine he usually radiated with his personality seemed to radiate physically, as if he was being infused with the sun’s very essence.

You couldn’t stop yourself from sitting up to go and talk to him. He looked up at you in the position he was in on his knees and smiled, his eyes squinted from the direct sunlight.

“Hey. Fancy going for a walk?” the way he says it seems like he’s been waiting for the opportunity to do so. The sun shifts and his expression softens as he awaits your response. 

You nod and put your hand out for him to take it, and he rolls his eyes playfully but takes your hand anyway. You try not to think about what the rest of the group might think as you walk away with him, hand in hand. It’s not lost on you that you guys look like a couple, but Harry has always been touchy with his friends, some might say too touchy, so you pray that they’ll just attribute it to that. 

He swings your hands as you guys walk, and constantly rakes his fingers through his damp hair with his free hand. You kind of wish he wouldn’t because you love the way his curls fall over his face. 

“I feel like we’ve both been so busy. I haven’t gotten to see you as much as I want to.” You stop walking, you guys are a bit of a good distance away from everyone else and he’s starting to get more affectionate with you. His hands trail up to your arm to cradle your neck and he rubs your jaw affectionately. He leans down to ghost his lips against your neck and whispers, “I’ve missed you.” 

There’s something so poetic about the way his voice carries with the wind and the distant sound of the waves crashing around you guys. You melt into his hands when his lips finally make actual contact with your skin and you have to fight hard to suppress the whimper that threatens to leave your mouth. 

“Tell me you’ll come home with me tonight. Please.” He suckles on your neck gently, causing the moan you were suppressing to finally force its way out. 

“I will. Anything you want.” you pant out, tangling your hands into his hair. You sigh when he pulls away from you but you can’t complain when you get the view of the sun reflecting in his eyes. It feels like you’re frozen in time as you look at him. The sun has set a bit more and the atmosphere is colored a fiery orange that bleeds more into a red. His eyes mimic the water in the way they glisten and his pink lips almost make you weak just looking at them. Especially considering the way those lips were just all over you. 

Harry’s staring at you in awe, the way the deep colored rays dance against your skin made it seem like a thousand stars fell from the sky just to adorn you. You’ve always been beautiful, but in this very moment, you’re transcendent. To him it’s like you constantly exceed any expectation for beauty he could possibly have. Everything about you is like a masterpiece to him. He wonders why it took him so long to grasp just how weak the sight of you makes him. He gives you one soft kiss and then pulls back too quickly. He takes your hand and starts walking with you back to the rest of the group. 

Looking at him now, you wonder why it took you so long to grasp just how deep you are in this. Having thoughts of freezing time and staying in this moment so you can look at him forever are dangerous thoughts. Thoughts that almost make it seem like you’re in love. 

Dangerous. 

October 31st, Halloween.

“Jesus, babe.” Harry brings his finger up and moves it in a circular motion, “do a spin for me.” 

You giggle and spin around, making sure to do it slowly so he can really take in the way this dress hugs your figure in all the right ways. He whistles and you can’t stop the laugh from leaving your lips. 

Ever since your realization at the beach, things have been so simple between you two. You thought it would complicate things, but everything has been perfect. So incredibly perfect. It’s almost like he knew that you were starting to feel something more, the way he’s been treating you these past couple months is so different. Different in a good way. The amount of attention and care that he’s devoted to you makes your stomach with more butterflies than you can handle. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” you tell him, walking up closer to him, having to look up at him. Your confidence wanes the slightest bit at his intense eye contact when he looks down at you with an amused smirk on his face. 

“Yeah? I look good enough for you?” he quips, dangerously close to your lips as he speaks, “I was worried you know? S’hard to measure up to you.” 

Ever the flirt, he is. 

“You’re overdoing it now.” you deadpan and back away from him, making him throw his head back in a cackle. It was Harry’s idea to go to the Halloween party in matching costumes. You were a little shocked at first but you’d never turn down an opportunity to match with the most fashionable man you know. 

“Our ride is gonna be here in about….” he looks down at an imaginary watch on his wrist, “fifteen minutes. Whadya say we sneak a quickie in?” he smirks at you and chuckles when you roll your eyes.

“It’s this fucking outfit,” he practically growls, his hands palm at your ass, “driving me insane, baby.” 

“And whose idea was it?” you tilt your head as you speak, making a point to move his hands from your ass to your waist. “I’m not gonna be late because of you again, Harry. Keep your hands at appropriate places at all times.” you scold him. 

“Yes it was my idea,” he sighs. “A very good but painful idea that I take full credit fo—” a car beeping outside interrupts his sentence and his brow furrows while you smirk at him. 

Right…fifteen minutes.

Getting in the car and seeing all your friends dressed in all their Halloween outfits already has you excited for the rest of the night. Harry was very adamant about your seating arrangement when the car got too cramped, eagerly offering up his lap as a seat replacement for you. You of course took it, and you’ve spent the whole ride fighting your body’s natural reaction to his little teasing touches. 

You want to kill him by the time you finally arrive at the party. He knew exactly what he was doing in that car, he knows the effect his touches have on you and you know he’s doing this as “payback” for how you’re torturing him in your outfit. 

It’s not hard to make your rounds and do all the socializing that you’ve equipped yourself for before Harry is immediately stealing you away from people.

“Wanna dance with you.” is all he says, dragging you to the dancefloor. You look around as you guys settle, the vibe around is nothing short of raunchy. Looking at all of the other couples around you, you can tell that they all want to take each other home and tear each other’s clothes off. After cooling off with a couple drinks and conversations, you weren’t exactly in that mindset anymore, but you have a feeling that Harry is about to take you right back there. 

His hands smooth down your waist, boldly cupping your ass and he slowly grinds against him to the rhythm of the song, you feel his gentle breath before you hear his voice. “You’re killing me, petal. Been picturing tearing this dress off of you all. Fucking. Night.” 

Your breath catches in your throat and you let his hands lead you as you push your head further into his neck, “M’not doing anything though. What’s got you this worked up?” You pout at him condescendingly. He knows feigning innocence when he’s needy like this is your favorite thing to do. It makes you feel a sort of power that you usually don’t get with him to hear him say that you make him into a mess. 

“You fucking know, baby. You know what you’re doing to me.” he’s whining out his words at this point, and you thank god that the music is as loud as it is so everyone else can’t hear how this man is falling apart in your hands. 

“Can’t think of anything else. The only thought in my mind is watching you come on my cock. God it’d be so easy to just fuck you right here. Know you’ve already made a mess of yourself. It’d be so easy to give you what I know you need right now.” 

You’re panting at this point, delirious with pleasure. It should be illegal the way he can talk you into almost anything with that voice. You don’t care about anything or anyone else around you, all you can think about is how desperately you need him to quell that ache that’s building inside you.

“Fuck. Take me home. Take me home right now, H.” 

As soon as he hears you he’s moving. He doesn’t even bother to let your friends know where you’re going. He just drags you outside and starts tapping on his phone to get you guys an uber.

The ride to his house is tortuous. He sits you in his lap almost immediately and his hands find a home on your hips, making a point to drag you slowly back and forth across his thigh. 

Every roll against his thigh drives you further and further into oblivion and you don’t think you can wait any longer to get what you so desperately need. You suppose you’ll let him have his fun though, his little taste of “payback” for how bad he’s been aching this whole night. 

The second the driver stops, it’s like Harry couldn’t get you off of his lap fast enough (something you never thought you’d say) and he’s dragging you up to the house. He wanted to kiss you as soon as you got out of the car but he knew you wouldn’t appreciate doing that in front of the driver. No matter how turned on you are. 

As soon as you guys step into the house, he closes the door behind him and his lips are already on you. Your mind is instantly turned into mush with the way he claims your lips. It’s like he can’t even wait long enough to get you upstairs. He’s immediately getting down on his knees and kissing and sucking his way up your thighs, “so fucking beautiful and soft. You feel like a fucking dream. Dreamy girl.” 

He trails his hands slowly upwards and takes a hold of your thin lace panties. Although he pulls them down gently, you can see the impatience in his eyes and feel it in his grip. He’s beginning to lose his resolve and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. 

Your skirt is pushed up and resting on your hips before you can blink. The way you’ve been pressing your thighs together since you got in the house has been deemed useless when he forcefully pushes them apart, his hands gripping the flesh so hard you fear it might leave marks.  

“Wanna feel you come on my tongue. Missed it so much. Will you let me?” he sucks marks that only the two of you will be able to see in your inner thighs. You can barely find it in you to answer his question. Everything about the way he’s touching you, to his voice, to the smell of his cologne and your arousal mixed together is heightening all of your senses and making your brain short circuit. 

You nod hoping that would be enough, but you should’ve known better. “Words. You know better, baby.” he tsks, continuing his kisses along your sensitive skin. 

“Yes, yes. Please.” Is all you can manage to get out. The second the first yes leaves your lips, his mouth is exactly where you need it the most. He’s not wasting any time tonight, getting straight to the point of making you lose yourself on his tongue. Usually he drags it out, edges you or teases you with his tongue, but he’s aching so bad. He needs to be inside you before he loses his mind. 

His tongue swirls messily against your clit and you’re so sensitive that you tense with almost every stroke. He’s moaning against you in a way that you would find obnoxious if it wasn’t him, but because it is him, it just adds to your pleasure. He’s behaving as if he’s a man starved. As if he’s been a dessert and you’re that stream of water that he’s been yearning for. 

You tangle your hand into his hair and let your head tip back against the door. You can’t be bothered to worry about the volume of the moans you’re letting out and how they travel through the empty house. You’re too consumed in how good he’s making you feel. That’s the good thing about having a sexual partner like this. You’ve had so much time together and he’s made the most diligent effort to learn your body. He knows every signal, every tick, every indication. And he uses it all to his advantage. 

You sob lowly when he slides his fingers into your heat, immediately curling them up to hit that spot that makes you shake. You pull your head off of the door to look down at him, only to find his eyes already on you. His intense green eyes bore into yours and it’s almost as if they’re communicating with your eyes. He urges you to let go for him with that unspoken language that you’re now fluent in. 

He fucks you deep with his fingers while his tongue continues it’s very skillful ministrations. Every time he moans into your cunt the vibrations just push you further and further into bliss and you’re almost embarrassed with how close you are so quickly. The sounds you’re making are bordering on pornagraphic when you start clenching down hard on his fingers you know you’re a goner. 

He pulls away to egg you on with his voice, “there you go, baby. Getting so fucking tight for me.” you moan at his words and nod. As much as you love the way his tongue was working magic on you, the one thing that will always get you to fall over the edge is his voice. 

He’s evil, you decide. He’s evil for the way he toys with your body like he owns it. And at this point, he does own it. 

His tongue is back on your clit to offer you that final push off of the edge, he flicks his tongue and sucks with a pressure that you can only describe as mind numbing. Every movement he makes just makes the release that’s brewing even stronger. 

A complete mess of syllables leaves your bitten lips as the white hot pleasure consumes you. It feels like a tidal wave swallows you up in its strength and you see no way of coming up for air. You choke out a series of moans that Harry only groans at while he continues to softly lick at your clit and thrust his fingers inside you, like he intends to keep you under. 

The hands that were in his hair tug hard as the soft licks start to become a little too much for you to handle. A slightly higher pitched sound leaves him and he relents reluctantly, “can never get enough of your cunt, petal. Never.” He leaves wet kisses all over your thighs in between more praises that you barely register with all the pleasure swimming in your mind. 

One thing you can register though, is how bad you need him inside you, “take me upstairs, Harry.” 

He stands up almost immediately at that, and he smirks before leaning down to pick you up bridal style. You giggle at his antics and he only chuckles, kissing your cheek as he leads you two up the stairs.

November 23, Thanksgiving.  

Thanksgiving is by far your favorite holiday. The way you get to spend time with your family, the (amazing) food, just the atmosphere of being happy and thankful with people you love, you look forward to it every year. You’re chilling next to your sister on the couch at your parents house, laughing at one of your dad’s jokes. 

You guys have already eaten and you're completely full and sated as you enjoy the company of your family. 

The amount of times you’ve checked your phone should be considered embarrassing, but you can’t find it in yourself to stop. You invited Harry over for dinner. And it’s really no big deal, he’s been your friend for a while, long before the whole arrangement started. And he’s met your family so many times that they wouldn’t even bat an eye. His family lives in London and he’s in the U.S. for work so he’s come over for Thanksgiving plenty of times. 

You feel a nudge on your shoulder and you look over at your sister who has a soft knowing smirk on her face. 

Uh oh. You know that expression. 

You give her a deadpanned look, “what?” 

Her smile grows at the way you can read her so well and you urge her with your eyes to tell you what’s on her mind. 

“So…what’s going with you and Harry?” her eyes are squinted in that specific way that tells you that she knows exactly what’s going on with you and Harry, she just wants to hear you say it. “It’s just…you guys have been posting each other a lot, tagging each other in posts and all that. And the last time I saw you guys, you seemed super domestic.” 

You don’t doubt that. Even though you and Harry still place yourselves under the “friends with benefits” label, you guys have gotten way closer emotionally. You’re always together now. You sleep over at his house almost every night, sometimes without even sleeping together. You guys have been glued at the hip ever since Halloween. And it’s great, honestly. It feels great. 

“It’s nothing, it’s just…” you shrug your shoulders and a sheepish look graces your face, “I think I sort of…like him”

  Your sister can barely register what you said before your head is snapping to the sound of the doorbell ringing. You look back at your sister and she smirks at you softly with a soft raise of her eyebrow. 

Your mom gets up to open it and immediately shrieks in surprise, “Harry! I had no idea you were coming!” you smile at the genuine joy in her voice and then at Harry’s voice when he speaks, “she didn’t tell you I was coming?” You can hear the smile in his voice and it immediately brings the one you were trying to hide back on your face. 

“And you brought a date!” your mom exclaims. 

Your smile drops. 

Your heart follows your smile and you immediately feel a pit deep in your stomach that twists and twists until you can’t take it anymore. 

A hot wave of embarrassment comes next when your sister tenses next to you. You had just told her that you actually might like someone, that you actually might like Harry. And here he is with a date. 

Your mom steps aside to let them in and your stomach twists even tighter. She’s beautiful. And you’re sure she’s kind and charismatic and perfect and everything Harry would want and deserve in a woman. 

You don’t even wanna see the look on your sister’s face, you don’t want to see the pity in her eyes when she realizes that you’re completely hopeless. 

You feel tears gathering in your waterline and you blink them away. You almost want to feel angry. He brought her here? At your parents house? You know that technically you two don’t owe each other anything but there’s a level of respect that you figure one is supposed to have when sleeping with someone. 

You suddenly feel scared to see his face. You wonder if he’ll look guilty, or completely indifferent. You honestly don’t know which one is worse. 

You’re even more nervous that he’ll see your face and realize how much this is hurting you. How much it’s hurting you to realize that, although you two are friends, he never felt for you what you felt for him. That you were just a warm body he used when he needed it, and you happily offered it to him. Over and over. 

A plethora of emotions hit you at once, and after you cycle through confusion, sadness, and anger, you just feel stupid.

Your mom says your name and you’re very harshly snapped out of your thoughts, “figured you’d surprise us for the holiday, huh?” your mom has the most gentle smile on your face and it almost makes you crumble more. You look over to your mom and you immediately feel his intense gaze on you. That same intense gaze that used to make you melt only makes all of your muscles seize in the worst way at this very moment. You refuse to meet his eyes cause you know that if you do, you’ll break. 

You force a smile and pray that it’s not too obvious how you’re not even acknowledging him, “guess so, mom.” 

You and your sister share a look and you communicate without words that she’ll cover for you if you have to leave. She nods at you with a knowing look and you return the look, mentally preparing yourself to lie to everyone here and say you have to go. 

You pick your stuff up and get up to walk towards the door. “Harry,”  you address him for the first time since he came, “thank you so much for coming. I didn’t think you’d actually make it.” 

He furrows his brows and leans towards you, extending his arm out to pull you into an awkward side hug, “of course I’d make it.” you feel yourself tense as you feel his touch and you hope he doesn’t notice. You nod against his shoulder and sigh. His cologne envelopes your senses and you bask in the comfort of his warm hug. You’re utterly torn between the two feelings it offers you, a feeling of discomfort conflicting with a feeling of home. 

“How are you? You look lovely.” he kisses your cheek and the all too familiar feeling of his stubble rubbing against your skin threatens to bring a new wave of tears to your eyes. 

“I’m fine–” you barely get the words out before he’s interrupting you. A huge smile graces his face and he looks down at the girl he’s got his arm around, squeezing her shoulder gently before he speaks and you already know what he’s going to say. 

“I want you to meet—” 

You can’t do it. 

“I’d love to talk but I’ve got a work emergency and I really need to go.” you watch his face drop. His eyebrows furrow tightly together and a frown graces his face. You can tell he’s confused, he knows that you would never leave Thanksgiving early for any work emergency and you would never leave as soon as he shows up. 

You go to walk but his hand leaves his date like he’s been burned by her skin and he reaches out for you, grabbing your arm tight. His eyes are swimming with an expression you can’t quite place and he squeezes your arm with a quick pulse, “where’re you going? I just got here.” his voice dips and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he’s hurt by you leaving. Right now you can’t even begin to worry about him being hurt with the pain radiating in your chest right now. 

“S’work, H. I’m really sorry,” you turn to address the girl next to him, “it’s really nice to meet you. I’m sorry we couldn’t talk more.” and with that you’re out of there before anyone can say anything else. As soon as the door shuts behind you, you take a deep, shaky breath and bring your hand up to your neck to soothe the ache that’s developing in your jaw from holding in your tears. 

You decide then and there that you need to get it together. Harry doesn’t owe you anything, you guys are strictly friends with benefits. You weren’t supposed to get attached and caught up in the strings. You’ll try your absolute best to be a mature adult about this and not take your pain out on him cause as much as this hurts you, he doesn’t deserve to be treated the way you treat people when you’re hurt. 

And with that decision, you come to another. You need some time apart from Harry. 

December 24, Christmas Eve. 

Christmas Eve. Another one of your favorites. The anticipation and festive energy in the air felt palpable and everywhere you looked there was joy. The land outside was covered in white and the air felt crisp and cold. You loved the kind of air where it gave you little goosebumps as soon as you stepped outside. 

You’re watching a cheesy romantic Christmas movie, simultaneously loving and hating it. Loving it because it’s adorable and makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside, hating it because you definitely wish that the leads were you and Harry and it’s making you want to die. 

Just as the male lead tells the female lead how much he’s really been crushing on her the whole time they’ve been trying to save her mom’s restaurant, your phone begins to buzz. Unfortunately for you, it’s been buzzing all day. 

Harry. 

Over and over again. 

He’s been texting and calling and truthfully, he actually sounds really concerned.

Harry 11/28/23

Hey petal. Been trying to reach you for a bit. Is everything okay? We good? 

Harry 12/1/23

Miss you. Text me. 

Harry 12/3/23

Answer meeee please? 

Harry 12/7/23

Feel like you’re avoiding me. 

Harry 12/7/23

Did I do something? I’m sorry if I did. 

Harry 12/14/23

Just please let me know you’re alright. I’m getting worried. 

Harry 12/17/23 Starting to think that you’re dead. 

Harry 12/22/23

I’m gonna stop bothering you now. But I miss you. Please text me back. 

Harry 12/24/23

Okay I lied about the bothering thing. I need to see you and I’m really worried and if you’re dead I’m gonna ask the police to do a wellness check. So answer me. 

The sheer desperation in his texts almost broke you, but for all you know he just misses the sex, and the thought of that breaks you even more. 

You grab the pillow on your couch and thrust it up to your face to scream into it. The second you get done screaming you hear your doorbell and you jump. You wonder who in their right mind would be out in this weather but you pause your movie and  go to open it nonetheless. 

What you didn’t expect was a Harry Styles covered in snow at your door. 

“Hey...can I come in? S’snowing like really hard.” It breaks your heart a little the way he added that last bit in, like you would refuse him otherwise.

“Of course. Do you want any tea?” you ask, trying to avoid the elephant in the room in case that’s not why he came here. 

“No I’m― I came here to um…talk.”

Fuck. 

“Okay.” You giggle, trying to lighten the mood but his sullen expression stays put. 

“I’m still gonna start the kettle in case you want any―” 

“Why’re you pulling away from me?” he blurts out.

“Wha―”

“I literally haven’t spoken to you in weeks. Have I done something wrong? I―I” he pauses to compose himself and your frown deepens, “I miss you. Miss you so much and I just wanted to make sure we were okay.” 

You push yourself away from the couch and walk up to him, making sure to keep eye contact knowing how important it is to him,”of course we are, H.” 

“You haven’t spoken to me in like a mo―” 

“Shh, shh. Was just swamped with work. You know how I get all in my head.” You know you shouldn’t be lying to him, you really shouldn’t. But the way he’s talking like the idea of you purposely ignoring him breaks him, you don’t have it in you to let him suffer any longer.

He nods and you smile at him, bringing your hands up to tangle in his hair, “we’re okay. I promise.” 

“Promise?” he whispers and your heart flutters. 

“Yeah.” You hate lying to his face. 

You start your steps to go to the kitchen but his grip on your wrist pulls you back, nearly crashing into his chest. 

“Want a kiss, please.” his voice never leaves that soft whisper. You lean in to give him a soft kiss, suddenly feeling a pit in your stomach that only deepens the closer you get to him. You’ve always had a bad habit of putting someone’s comfort over yours. 

“Do you want tea?” you whisper against his lips. 

“Always want some fuckin’ tea.” he says with a smirk and a quiet chuckle, that joyful inflection back in his voice and that familiar sparkle back in his eyes. 

When you step out of the kitchen with the tea he’s sitting on the couch in a relaxed manner, picking at the loose strings in your pillows and watching the movie you have on. His lips stretch in a gentle smile when he sees you and you force yourself to return it. 

You sit down next to him and he places his hand softly on your thigh, leaning over to you to place a soft kiss on your jaw. He trails more and more down to your neck and you feel your stomach twist. Your hand shoots to his chest to halt any further movement and you rush out words in a short breath, “We can’t.” There’s a beat of silence. He backs away quickly to not make you uncomfortable and you sigh and whisper, “...I can’t” 

Your eyes flick up to meet his gaze and you can tell that without an explanation your rejection stings him a little. 

“Don’t you have like…a thing? With that girl you brought to Thanksgiving?” you watch his face twist tightly in confusion and you can’t bear to hear him make excuses or lie to you so you just continue to ramble, “does she even know that you’re sleeping with other people? With me? Like if I was your girlfriend I’d be pretty fucking pissed that you’re over here and touching me after bringing her to Thanksgiving of all places—” 

“Shut up.” He cuts off your ramble sharply. You suck in a breath at his tone (and after speaking all those words without a break) and your chest tightens at his stern expression. 

“W-what?” you fumble through the word. Never in your life have you seen him this angry. He’s looking at you with a gaze that can only be described as absolutely vexed. 

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” If there’s one thing Harry is, it’s smart. He’s absolutely not an idiot. But you absolutely are for not realizing just how well he knows you, “you’ve barely spoken to me for a month. Didn’t answer my calls, texts, not going out when you know I’d be there because you thought I’d betray your trust like that and just pop up one day with a fucking girlfriend!?” You can tell that he’s trying to control his volume and anger. The way his fist and jaw is clenched is an obvious indication. 

“Well what was I supposed to think, Harry? You brought her and she was beautiful and you had your hand on her wai–” 

“And you weren’t gonna let me explain myself!? I’d never do that to you. It was—We–we had a deal!” he exclaims incredulously, ducking down to meet your eyes when you try and look away. 

“I know we had a deal, H. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions—” He interrupts you again and you sigh deeply. 

“And I can’t believe that you would think…I thought it was different…I thought you…” he trails off, his voice getting softer as his speaking slows.

“You thought I what?” you ask urgently. He looks down at his hands and picks at the nail on his thumb. You frown softly, “you thought I what, H?”

His expression almost looks tortured as he trains his gaze on his fingers. You suddenly feel terrible. You ignored him for so long all over a simple misunderstanding. You think back to the moment that it all happened and figure you might have avoided all of this if you just let him properly introduce her like he was trying to. Your lip trembles softly at the idea of hurting him and he sighs. 

“I thought you felt the same way as I did. I thought it wasn’t just a deal to you.” he admisses so very quietly. So quiet that if the TV was any louder you wouldn’t have heard it. His brows are tightly knit together and his lips are turned down into a deep pout. 

Harry almost regretted it when he said it. He knows that if you truly don’t feel the same, it’ll never go back to the way it was, and he’ll lose the person he cares about the most. He’ll lose the person he loves the most. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest and he avoids looking up at your expression in fear that your expression will be less than kind. 

He speaks before you can even process what he just said, “Ellie’s my cousin.” he breathes out a humorless laugh, “the girl I brought to Thanksgiving. I thought you’d love her.” the soft tone and volume of his voice remains constant.

You feel like your brain just short circuited. Harry just told you that he actually has feelings for you. That all this time he’s been thinking about you in the same way that you’ve been thinking about him. All this time. 

And you’re sitting here like an idiot letting him stew in confusion and not saying a word. 

“Oh my god.” you gasp like you’ve suddenly been slapped back into reality. Your hands rush over to him like they have a mind of their own with thoughts that tell them that they need to be close to him. You grasp his face in your hands and pull his head up so you can look into his eyes. 

“H.” you sigh. He watches your mouth form around the word and he decides right then and there that no matter what you’re going to say next, no matter if you reject him and tell him you could never see him that way, you will always make him weak. Looking into your eyes will always break and mend him at the same time, the sound of you saying his name will always make him crumble.

“Of course I feel the same way. Are you kidding? I thought that you didn’t.” you finally, finally admit. It immediately feels like a giant weight has been lifted off of your chest and you almost wanna cry at how freeing it feels. 

“Are you serious?” he laughs, although you can see that his eyes are a bit glossy. You pout softly, nodding and leaning down to envelop his lips in yours. 

“I’ve always needed you, petal. Even before the sex. I need you to know that.” he speaks with conviction. He needs you to know that it’s not just the sex muddling his brain and making him attached. He really truly loves you. Everything about you. 

“I know, I know H.” you nod again. 

“You’ve got no fuckin’ idea how much I missed you, petal. No clue.” His voice is thick with emotion, but also filled with that familiar lust that you missed so much. 

You scoot closer to him on the couch and throw your legs around his lap to straddle him, “feel like showing me?” 

He chuckles darkly, his hands quickly landing on your waist. His mouth closes to form into a smirk when you blatantly offer your body up for him like this. A soft noise leaves you in reaction to the tight grip he has on your waist. 

Your hips take on a mind of their own when they start to shift against him. A soft hiss followed by a groan leaves his lips. It’s like your lips are magnets the way you can’t keep them away from each other. He leans up to kiss you and the movement of your hips intensifies. 

You can see it in his eyes that he’s thinking of some sort of punishment to sort out your behavior of the past month. The intensity in his expression makes you feel a sort of anxiousness that throws you for a loop. You feel a little scared, but all the excitement and anticipation just overrides that tiny bit of fear. 

He leans closer to you to leave open mouthed kisses all over the exposed skin of your chest, he kisses until he reaches the fabric of your shirt and his hand falls to your ass, gripping it tightly while urging you to continue the movement of your hips against him. 

“Gonna have to teach you a lesson it seems.” His voice is husky and deep when he speaks, you know that he has the capacity to absolutely ruin you tonight, and you know that he will. 

He taps your hip with his fingers, his usual signal that he needs you to stand up. Your brows furrow in confusion briefly, but the confusion is gone as soon as it came when he speaks. 

“Do me a favor, honey?” 

You nod eagerly. 

“Get out that vibrator you’ve got in your dresser, clothes off and wait for me in your room.” His voice held a velvety, sensual tone, and combined with what he said, you’re nearly weak in the knees. When you stand there for a moment, having a bit of trouble getting your body to move as fast as your brain, he urges you with a raise of his eyebrow and you immediately spring into action. 

You hear his quiet murmur of “good girl” as you start to walk to your room. Every nerve in your body is buzzing with anticipation. Harry is already amazing in the bedroom with just him, imagining the pleasure you’ll feel with him and the toy is making you squeeze your thighs together and your eyes shut as you dwell in your thoughts. 

You sat down on your bed (very submissively, you hope it’ll get you some brownie points) with your vibrator laying next to you. Just when you’re starting to get impatient, the door opens with Harry on the other side of it. There’s a very distinct hunger in his eyes as he looks at you, as his gaze travels the length of your body. You can tell he appreciates the way you’re sitting. 

He doesn’t waste any time walking towards you and kneeling until his knees touch the floor and he’s level with where you need him the most. His hands find purchase on your thighs, immediately squeezing and prodding at them like he’s playing with his favorite toy (which he technically is), “you’re so good for me, petal. Doing as I asked.” 

His eyes flick up to yours after he speaks, and the eye contact, especially when he’s got that look going, makes you melt. You’re hyper aware of the tortuous way his hands are trailing upwards. He knows the way his touch works you up no matter where it is, and he’s using it to his advantage. 

A sharp gasp rips from your throat when he spreads your thighs apart. It’s embarrassing how wet you’ve gotten from just the anticipation and thought of what he’s going to do to you. The groan that he let out once he saw what a mess you’ve made is an indication that he was pleased. 

“Jesus, petal. Look what you’ve done…” he stares at your center with an expression of deep desire as he reaches out a hand to trail two fingers through your folds, collecting your arousal on his fingertips, “messing up your sheets, baby. This all for me?” 

You can’t help but obediently nod, meeting his eyes with a pleading look, “only for you, promise. Please?” 

His face is painted with an expression of faux confusion, that condescending look that makes you clench around nothing and tip your head up to the ceiling in frustration. You know from that look this is going to be harder than you thought. He’s in the mood to tease. He’s going to break you.

“Please? Please what, baby. What do you need from me?” You’re impressed by the way he’s looking at you like he’s actually concerned and wondering what you want, and although you know it’s an act and he’s not asking because he truly plans on giving it to you, you still give in.

“Touch me, Harry. Need it.” You should be embarrassed at the whiny inflection in your voice as you beg him, but you can’t find it in yourself to feel shame when you’re aching as bad as you are. 

“You need it?” He teases and you know even he’s getting tired of this waiting game because his expression has melted down into a lazy grin, enjoying the way he’s torturing you. 

You can tell that he isn’t exactly mad any more, which you’re grateful for. He’s just enjoying toying with the body that he knows so well. 

You scoff and roll your eyes, pushing your hips towards him needily. It earns you a dark chuckle and a sigh, “alright, alright.” 

Without leaving his position on his knees, he reaches for the vibrator. Before you can beg any more, he’s switching it on and bringing it down to where you need it the most. He doesn’t even offer up a warning before he’s placing it directly on your clit, ripping a shocked moan from your throat. 

“Yeah?” His voice is taunting and low, and if the vibrator was any louder you wouldn’t be able to hear him, but it still hits you right in the gut like his voice usually does when he talks to you like this, “is that good? Right here?” 

“Fuck, yes. Stay right there.” you stutter through your words in a way that you know he’ll tease you for later, but you don’t have the brain capacity to care right now. All you can think about and feel is him, that vibrator on your clit, the way he’s talking. 

When he presses it harder against you, you breathe in deeply, exhaling in a whiney moan. He’s making you unravel at a quick and embarrassing pace and the sensations are overwhelming you. Your hips start to shift in tandem with the way he’s slowly rubbing the head of the vibrator back and forth against your clit, the sounds that leave your throat travel straight to his cock that’s still confined in his pants. He growls lowly when he notices your thighs start to shake and leans closer to suck kisses into them, “close already? Fuck look at that, honey…” he’s referring to the way your arousal is coating the toy. He almost feels tempted to bring it to his lips and clean it off, “this dreamy cunt needed it so bad, hm?”

You couldn’t respond even if you tried, your brain a mess of syllables and sounds that you’re meant to put together. All you can manage is a string of whimpers as you get closer and closer to your peak.

Harry watches your every move, so in tune with every twitch of your body and every sound you make. He moans along with you as you come undone, making sure to keep the toy right where it’s been to help you ride it out, anything to keep making his girl feel good. 

You reach for his hand to ground you and he quickly gives you what you need, interlocking your fingers and groaning when you squeeze tightly, “there you go…fuck.” 

You push yourself away from the toy when it becomes too much as best as you can, desperate to escape the onslaught of overstimulation and he chuckles, pulling the toy off of you. You can barely grip your bearings as he brings the toy to his lips to clean off with his tongue, he moans needily when he tastes you and squeezes your hand as if to say he’s proud of you. 

He puts the toy down next to you and starts to kiss his way up your body. Mumbling little words of encouragement and praise on his journey to your lips. 

“Did such a good job.” 

“M’so proud of you.” 

“You come so pretty.” 

“So beautiful.”  

When you guys are face to face he pinches your lips with his fingers before he leans down to kiss you, moaning into the kiss since he was deprived of them in the short time that he was making you come. 

“Hi.” You breathe out in a chuckle, your mind still muddled from the post climactic haze. He returns your greeting, his voice soft and tender with an adoration filled expression on his face. 

“Aren’t you like–” you motion your head downwards to refer to the way he’s straining in his pants and a chuckle leaves his lips. He nods gently, still staring at you with that fond look in his eye. 

“Mhm.” he mumbles. He repositions himself so he can take off his clothes and after he teases you for nearly drooling over his abs, comes back down to rest against you so that your chests are touching, “you wanna keep going?”

You know he’s asking to be respectful, but you can also tell that if you say no he’d probably cry. You can feel how hard he is against your thigh and see the strain in his expression. He subtly shifts his hips every so often against your skin and you have to fight back a smirk at how needy he is. 

You nod before you remember his thing about verbal consent and you mumble out a soft yes. As soon as he has your permission, he’s connecting your lips and lining up his tip with your entrance. He drags his tip back and forth against you, your body twitching in sensitivity every time he passes over your clit. 

A guttural groan leaves him as he finally fills you, a groan that melts into a whine as you clench down around him tightly, forcing yourself to adjust to the burning stretch that you’ve missed so much. 

“Fuck, I missed you.” The sound of his voice and the sounds he’s making just make you clench down tighter around him, “how do you always feel this fucking good? Squeezing me like a vice, pretty.”  

He sets a rhythm that has him hitting that spot inside you that makes you melt every time, somehow even though he’s been aching in his pants for so long his focus still remains solely on bringing you pleasure, making you feel good, “s’that okay, sweet girl. S’it good for you? Am I giving this needy cunt what it needs?” 

You know he doesn’t expect you to respond but he speaks anyway. He’s well aware of the effect his voice has on you.His deliberate thrusts gain more momentum with every reaction you give him. He truly feeds on your pleasure. It’s as if he suddenly remembers the emotional turmoil you forced the both of you to go through the past month, because his thrusts begin to get more purposeful. Rougher, more pointed motions of his hips rip noises from you that you’re sure is gonna give you a sore throat later. 

His hand wraps around your throat in a firm grip, leaning down to grit words out into your ear, “you’re mine, understand that? You’re mine. And I’m yours. No one else’s. I belong to you, petal. Just you.” 

He fights the strong pull in his chest that tells him to tell you how he really feels, how in love he is with you. How you consume his every thought and how your touch is unlike any other touch he’s ever felt. From the first time he was already addicted. You’re unlike anyone else that he’s ever met, you feel like home. 

The force of his thrusts knock all of the air out of your lungs, and all you can do is nod and mumble out an agreement. You need to be his. There might not be anything that you want more right now. Hearing him confess his feelings for you right now as he’s fucking you into oblivion do all the right things for you, and like clockwork, he immediately recognizes what you need and switches back on the vibrator, bringing it right back down to your clit. 

“Fuck that’s it, baby. Am I fucking you right, petal? Yeah? Fucking show me then. Come for me.” He presses the toy harder against you and rolls his hips in just the perfect way that makes him rub against that perfect spot inside you and you realize now that he made good on his word of teaching you a lesson. You are sufficiently taught.

He whines loudly at the feeling of you coming around him, mumbling out praises and thank you’s as you milk him for everything he’s worth, “shit, m’gonna fucking come. Fuck keep cumming, baby. Keep fucking squeezing me like that–” his words are cut off with a series of noises that you know is going replay in your head on loop. 

He rides out his pleasure with slow, lazy thrusts, hiding his face in your neck as he tries to cope with all the pleasure that’s wracking through his body. You tangle your hands in his hair to offer him some comfort, both of you breathing heavily. He continues to mumble praises into your damp skin, filling you with a warm fuzzy feeling that transcends anything you’ve ever felt before. 

When he catches his breath he turns his head to rest it on your shoulder and speaks, “you know I meant it right?” 

“Meant what?” 

“I’m yours. And you’re mine.” 

December 31st, New Years Eve. 

Your friend’s makeshift bar is bustling and you chuckle as the poor untrained bartender is trying to grapple with it all. You’re sipping slowly at a glass of champagne when you feel a strong arm link around your waist. 

“Mm hi baby.” his deep voice reverberates through your entire body as he speaks directly into your ear. You melt into his grasp and your lips break into a smile that you couldn’t stop even if you tried. 

“Harry.” you say cheekily as your hands fall to hold onto his arm. He had just come back from an absolute killer karaoke performance next to your friend’s TV. The whole entire house was cheering for him as he belted out an incredible rendition of “Hopelessly Devoted to You”. Ever the performer, your boyfriend is, “you were amazing. As always.” you giggle and he presses a messy, wet kiss to your cheeks. 

He is absolutely glowing tonight. Surrounded by his family, friends, and you. He’s beyond ready to spend the next year being annoyingly in love with you and attached to your hip. In fact, that’s the thing he’s looking forward to the most about the new year, going through every milestone, change, and holiday with the love of his life. 

“Always strokin’ m’ego, petal. Looove you.” you laugh loudly at how inebriated he is and lean your head back against his shoulder to get closer to him. 

“I love you too, H. I think you’re cut off though.” you chuckle and you can hear the pout in his voice when he speaks. 

“Wha’? Wha’s wrong with you? M’not even that drunk m’love.” The irony of his words slurring while he’s trying to convince you that he isn’t drunk isn’t lost on you. You turn around to face him and it’s like his expression melts into a smile when he looks at you. 

You don’t know how you never noticed it before, the way he looks at you. He stares at you with so much awe, so much reverence. Ever since you’ve noticed it the first time, it’s the first thing that catches your attention when you guys are together. That damn look. 

“Y’so pretty.” He brings his hand up to stroke your face with his thumb. 

You turn your face to kiss his palm and he giggles childishly, mumbling something about it tickling.

It’s not long before the countdown starts. Harry and you look at each other in anticipation, wanting to commemorate the first time you guys expressed the affection for each other that’s only increased ten fold. 

9

8

“I think New Years is m’favorite holiday.” he mumbles out, looking down at you with that familiar fond look. 

6

“Yeah?” you giggle at his admission, “why’s that, H?” 

4

“S’cause it’s the day that I finally got you.” You can barely register the cheers of happy new year before his lips are on yours, claiming them and making you his. You pull away reluctantly to breathe and smile at him when you speak.

“I think it’s my new favorite too, baby.”

[rnnsdrms]

f1 drivers and popular romance tropes: oscar piastri !!

DEAREST READER. i have finally let this sweet boy out of my cage. the root of my inspiration for this whole mission. unlike charles’ though, i went completely overboard with this one. i couldn’t help myself 😭 i failed to make it as low as 1k. i wrote it in google docs and it took 6 pages 😭. so, this is for the piastri girlies out there! i hope you’ll enjoy this one because i had a smooth-sailing writing his compared to the others !

CONTENT WARNINGS. reader and oscar’s age are a bit vague, but anything from primary school to secondary school age. this content is sfw but only 18+ can visit my blog. as for minors, you can only interact with this post and the masterlist. stay in your lane and all shall be well. also, r.i.p my english grammar !

WORD COUNT. 2704 words !

Yep, this boy is the start of it all. When someone said that Oscar Piastri gives off a loser boyfriend-slash-childhood neighbour friends to lovers vibe, I couldn’t agree more. So, I decided to stick with this headcanon for him. 

It’s the kind of story where your parents move into a new neighbourhood due to unique circumstances when you are young, and Oscar’s parents are among the friendly neighbours who greet your parents and you, bringing a welcoming gift to help your family settle into the new community.

When they come to your new house, you spot a boy hiding behind his parents’ legs. When they tell him to say hello, he steps forward hesitantly and extends his hand. You shake it, and he pulls back his hand quickly. Since you and Oscar are about the same age, your parents begin secretly arranging playdates. One reason is that Oscar needs a friend to play with in the neighbourhood, and at the same time, having someone to play with you helps you familiarise yourself with the new surroundings. It’s perfect. Your parents even put you in the same school as Oscar.

Childhood is a blissful mix of shared memories. Every Halloween, you and Oscar go trick-or-treating together, scaring the other kids in the neighbourhood and swapping sweets on the sidewalk. During school breaks, your family and Oscar’s often go hiking together or take camping trips to enjoy the crisp air and the vibrant autumn scenery. While the adults set up the tents and prepare the meals, you and Oscar roam around the campsite, finding the best spots to explore. You get along brilliantly with his younger sisters too, much to Oscar’s frustration, because the three of you love to play pranks on him. Whether it’s hiding his shoes before a hike or sneaking extra marshmallows into his rucksack, your playful antics never fail to make him groan. But you can tell he enjoys these moments, rolling his eyes but smiling as he chases after you, trying to get his revenge.

The cold winters are filled with skiing and ice-skating, both of you putting on each other’s competitive spirit to the test by racing one another from one edge to the other, eager to set the fastest time. But when the chill becomes too much to bear, you both retreat indoors, compensating with cosy movie nights to warm the atmosphere and pass the time. Both your parents have grown accustomed to the two of you visiting each other’s homes, to the point where they prepare your ( or Oscar’s) favourite meals every time you (or Oscar) drop by.

You remember how spring is always the most chaotic time for you and Oscar, especially for him, as he also divided his time with go-karting, but you both always manage to find time to study together. You often joke, ‘Aw, what would you do without me?’ and Oscar can only sigh and nod his head in defeat, knowing he’d be completely lost and his grades would be abysmal without your generous help. It is the season where schools overwhelm their students with endless assignments and preparations for the final exams. You and Oscar either do them in the serene atmosphere of the school’s or public library or in the comfort of each other’s homes. The subjects are difficult, but what’s even more difficult is studying in front of Oscar. That isn’t a problem when you are kids. But adolescence literally alters your brain chemistry and body shape, and you realise, over time, that Oscar grows more and more attractive. You never think you’ll ever see him that way. Sure, you always considered him a very sweet and cute boy during your younger days, even though he can be a little mischievous when he wants to. But you can’t quite pinpoint when you started seeing him in a different light.

Summer holidays are filled with camping in the woods, surfing at the beach, and volunteering together at the community centre. There is never a boring moment. But a core memory that will latch onto you forever is the time he suddenly came to your house at night. You are just about to sleep when you suddenly hear constant sharp thumps against the glass of your window. Initially, you are scared, thinking it might be a ghost or something. But you approach it anyway because it wouldn’t stop. When you open the curtains of your window, you see Oscar hiding in the shadows, one hand in his pocket and the other cupping small rocks. You quickly open your window.

‘Are you crazy?! What are you doing?’ you hiss, trying not to raise suspicion with your parents and the whole neighbourhood.

‘Come down,’ he says, his whisper tinged with a slight urgence. ‘I need to talk to you.’

You hesitate, torn between the need to stay in your room and the pull of his words. It’s not like you have never snuck out before in the past, but who knows how long your luck can last. Oscar stands below, his posture firm, insistent. With a deep sigh, you make up your mind. You can’t ignore him any longer.

‘Give me a moment, I’ll come down.’

‘Okay,’ he says, appearing happy that you listen to his request. ‘I’ll meet you across the street.’

Oscar waits for you as you cross the street. You hope he has a good reason for pulling you out into the dark of night. The two of you begin to walk side by side, taking slow steps throughout the quiet neighbourhood. You ask him why he couldn’t wait until morning to talk about whatever that’s bothering him.

‘I’ve made my decision. I’m going to the UK to pursue racing.’

At that moment, a flood of emotions wash over you like a tsunami attacking a seawall. Your mind becomes muddled, preventing you from finding any words to respond to him. But you know how much he loves racing. You have watched him race at the local go-kart track, effortlessly beating other kids. You have seen the pride beaming through him when he stands on the podium, holding a trophy. You have seen the way his eyes gleam and his smile widens every time he talks about his dream: to be able to compete in Formula 1. This has always been what he wanted, and deep down, you know you’d be a terrible person to try to stop him from pursuing what he truly wants in life.

Trying to swallow the shock down your throat, you ask, ‘When will you be leaving?’

‘Next week. My parents bought the plane tickets already.’

You look up at him. ‘Are your family going as well?’  

‘No. It’ll just be me.’ He pauses. ‘But I won’t be alone. I’ll be staying at a boarding school.’

‘Oh, that’s nice.’ Yet, you don’t feel any reassurance or relief when he says that. He is leaving. With each passing moment, denial grips you more tightly. You know this day will come, and it has. He has been telling you for a while now that he might leave Australia someday. But now that you are being represented with this moment, hearing him finally confirming it, still manages to catch you off guard. It is as you expected, you were never prepared for it, after all. The weight of this moment and the silence that engulf you and him presses down on you, like a boulder lodged in your chest.

‘Well, I’m going to miss you.’ You smile, putting up a strong facade. The sadness that tightens around your heart is hard to remove, and you hope the dim lighting of the streetlight and the pale glow of moonlight do not threaten to show the tears welling in your eyes.

Oscar nods, lips pressed together like how one would when they try to hide something. ‘I’m going to miss you too. It’s going to be hard without you around. But I promise I’ll try to call you—and my family—every week.’ He says, sparing you another soft gaze.

You chuckle, and let out a gentle snort.

‘You better.’ You reciprocate his gaze while trying to sound fierce, but your voice cracks just a little when you say it. Yet, Oscar does not seem to notice.

The air between you and Oscar settles into silence once more, albeit it feels heavier than the previous moments as you both continue walking along the pavement. Despite the silence, your thoughts are screaming, louder than anything the night offers that it becomes deafening to you. There are words you have been dying to say. All these years, you want him to know how much you like him, and more than just a close friend—how he has become the only boy you want in this wide universe. You want to tell him how you wouldn’t want any other boys touching you except for his gentle hands, how even a faint of his smile is enough to light up your darkest days. You can guarantee that there is no one else who understands Oscar like you do, and no one understands you like he does.

Should I say it? What if he just sees me as his childhood friend and … nothing more? The words you have been holding back press against your lips, almost bursting out, but you hesitate. You have been debating with yourself for so long–wondering whether you should tell him how you feel. It was now or never.

But what if he doesn’t feel the same way? Just because we are childhood friends doesn’t mean he will reciprocate your feelings, does it? In the end, you can’t risk it—not when everything is about to change. Besides, Oscar’s unbroken silence seems to give you the answer. If he felt the same, surely he would have said something by now. So, you decide that staying quiet is the safer option. You are not about to ruin the friendship you have built with him over something as trivial as romantic feelings—especially not when he is flying to England next week. It just isn’t worth it. So, for the rest of the walk, you decide to stick to safe, meaningless chatter with Oscar. Once the clock almost hits midnight, you and Oscar exchange a brief smile, say your goodbyes, and part ways. (What you don’t know is that as you walk back to your house, Oscar stops in his tracks. He turns around to look back at you, taking in your figure, trying to carve every detail into his memory, as if he is afraid he might forget you the moment he looks away. It is only when you finally vanish from his view, he walks home). 

A few years later, you are in your first year of university. It’s been lonely without Oscar by your side through high school, but he kept his promise to keep in touch with you through video calls. As for Oscar, he has become a main driver for McLaren in Formula I, and you were thrilled beyond words when he shared the news with you. You still can’t believe he is a famous person now.

One day, he tells you he is coming back to Australia during one of the two-week holidays between Grand Prixs, and you pick him up at the airport along with his parents. The moment you see him, you are ecstatic that when you both finally hug, neither of you wants to let go. You can feel the way his arms press against your back, squeezing the air from your lungs. After a moment, you both pull back—although you sort of initiate it first because you are conscious of his parents and sisters watching. 

That night, his parents invite you to join them for dinner to celebrate Oscar’s return, and while you refuse at first, thinking that it is more of a family reunion, Oscar insists that you should come.

After the meal, you help Mrs Piastri clean up before heading home. But just as you are about to leave, Oscar races to the door, calling out, ‘Wait! I’ll walk you back.’

‘Oh, you don’t have to. You must be tired—’

‘No, I’m not. And I want to.’ He cut, giving you an unwavering gaze.

You release a defeated sigh through your mouth, realising there is no point in arguing with Oscar, so you let him accompany you as you walk back home. As usual, silence fills the air at first, heavy and awkward, but after gaining some distance from his house, Oscar finally breaks through it.

‘I have something to say to you … something I should have said a long time ago.’ He begins with a furtive note, making you feel slightly uneasy but curious enough to know.

‘Oh? Is there still something you need to say that you didn’t already say over dinner tonight?’ You joke, trying to ease the atmosphere and him.

You see him hesitate for a moment. Then, he stops walking, and you instinctively stop walking too. Confusion starts to seep into your facial features as you look up at him. Oscar takes a deep breath and exhales the air through his mouth, before looking straight into your eyes with a brand new motive.

‘During my time in the UK, I found myself … constantly … thinking about you. There wasn’t a day I didn’t think of you—well, maybe only when I was asleep. And even then, I sometimes … I dreamt of you.’ He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he shifts his gaze downwards to the pavement. A faint pink hue colours his cheeks. ‘I guess I’ve been blind this whole time, or maybe I was just too afraid to say anything before I left. That eventually grew into regret.’

Your heart rate increases with every word he speaks, but your gaze never leaves his face. You can’t believe you are actually hearing this, especially after a few years. You think you might know what he is trying to say, but it sounds too good to be true, and you don’t want to get your hopes too high to protect yourself from the sting of a potential heartbreak.

‘I’ve always liked you, (y/n). More than a friend would. It’s … it’s always been you.’ He reaches his hand out to grasp yours. You almost shudder at his touch, but your desire for him channels through your hold on them, never wanting to let go. 

‘And I hope we can be more than just … friends.’

You stare at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly ajar. His confession has an effect similar to a nuclear bomb. Your mind is reduced to nothing. Oscar, noticing the blank expression on your face and your silence, shifts uncomfortably. But before he can say anything, you quickly avert your gaze, covering your mouth with your hand. There is a feeling of immense happiness and relief swelling in your chest that you can’t help but let tears pool in your eyes. But you pull yourself together, and turn to face him.

‘I never stopped thinking about you either.’ You admit, your voice trembling. ‘It was hard without you here. This place felt so much less like home when you weren’t around. Everywhere I went, everything I saw … It all reminded me of you. I’ve … I’ve grown feelings for you too. But I also didn’t say anything because I couldn’t risk ruining what we have, our friendship, and our friendship is so good.’ 

You take a shaky breath, smiling softly, finally letting your tears fall from your eyes. ‘But I’ve always hoped for more.’

For a moment, the two of you just stand where you are, overwhelmed by the weight of each other’s feelings. Then, out of nowhere, you both start laughing.

‘Oh my god,’ Oscar snorted, placing a hand over his eyes. ‘We’re both so dumb.’

‘Hey!’ You lightly protested, gently punching him in the arm. ‘Don’t lump me in with you!’

‘No can do,’ he teases, bringing his thumbs up to wipe the side of your eyes. ‘We’re together now … for real.’

You gaze at him. Your voice just above a whisper. ‘For real?’

Oscar nods. ‘For real.’

• ───────────────────────────•

SONGS FOR THIS SCENARIO: Taylor Swift – You Belong With Me, SEVENTEEN – Home, Dhruv – double take, lany – sharing you, Jeremy Zucker ft Chelsea Cutler – this is how you fall in love

• ───────────────────────────•

˗ˏˋ MASTERLIST ˎˊ˗ ✦ ˗ˏˋ KO-FI ˎˊ˗

RNNSDRMS™. SUPPORT WRITERS BY REBLOGGING THEIR WORK. DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, TRANSLATE, OR POST MY WORKS ON ANY SITE. I WILL POST MY POSTS ON OTHER SOCIAL MEDIA SITES MYSELF AND THAT’S ALL YOU GET.

[mandyarin]

Spring has come to me

Shohei Ohtani x Reader (female pronouns)

Synopsis: A story of love between the team physician and the superstar of the team.

Author's note: Hey y'all this is my first ever fic! I have been reading fics since forever and have been contemplating on making my own for the longest time and well my first piece is dedicated to Shohei Ohtani, since not much people write for this talented gorgeous man, I figured why not. Feedbacks are highly appreciated, altho pls don't be mean :< i didn't check for grammar or punctuation mistakes so I'm sorry for dat :>> there might also be some mistakes abt team technicalities and dynamics sooo :3

Working as part of the Dodgers' medical team was not really the dream but the opportunity was dropped into your lap and you'd be a fool not to take it. Spring training has started but not everyone on the team has been on the field as consistently as the star player of the team, Shohei Ohtani. Without fail he has been on the stadium even before beginning spring training. As part of the medical team you have been corresponding closely with the rehabilitation personnel that works closely with the players, most notably Shohei. It was slightly different from working in a hospital but certainly a lot less work and stress. Although the higher ups breathing down your neck making sure the star was going to be alright might be causing you a headache. You weren't much for baseball or sports in general, what with being an over achiever who seeks validation through academics, never having much extra curricular unless it involves the academe, despite that though, you have certainly heard of the name Shohei Ohtani and the ripples of his achievements.

You were at your office, contemplating the best course of care to be administered to common baseball injuries and rehabilitation, personalized treatment, the best apparatus to use. Your mind running through every possible scenario and making contingency plan for each. Not only is your skill and credibility as a professional on the line but also a player's professional career. Everything has to be perfect. Nothing more, nothing less.

A knock came through the door, "Come in" you called.

"Hey would you like to meet the players? They're out on the field right now, I figured we introduce you", Called out a staff member as he entered through the door.

"Yeah, sure. Let me just save this and I'll be right out."

There wasn't much distance to walk out on the field, you see the long stretch of players talking amongst themselves, stretching, checking out their equipments.

"Alright, everyone listen up. This is the new team physician joining us this season. She will be corresponding with the medical staff and personnel in ensuring the best care and treatment for every single one of you. She is one of the best in orthopedics. I expect that you guys will heed her advices regarding to your health." The team manager gathered everyone near him and had me introduce myself to everyone present.

Everyone had the opportunity to introduce themselves, accompanied by a handshake. Soon it was the superstar's turn. A hand that shook yours in greeting, dwarfing it in his roughed up hand. He gave you a smile that reached his eyes, you like his eyes, you decide. Like crescent moons as he gives a slight chuckle.

It wasn't all that hard to get occupied with Shohei's matters, you had to correspond with his surgeon about his recent surgery, you had to be in constant communication with the physical therapist in charge of him and you had to plan and administer the best care for his current state. One might say that you are too focused on him despite being the team physician but that is just the effect of having a $700 million player in your care. Not a thing spared if it's for his well-being. Besides he's the only player in the current roster with the most recent surgery done and you'll be damned if he's not good to go when the season starts.

Being in close proximity with him made you realize things about him. The talent he has and the grit he puts in everything he does on the field makes him the amazing player that he is, you have not seen someone as dedicated as he was in their craft. He's meticulous in his actions, moves with intention. Careful and purposeful. When he is off the zone, his laughter rings, albeit like a hyena. Wide smiles and the carefree way he carries himself. So carefree but so sure. You have never seen him look like he was out of place in his new team. He always looked like he belonged where he is, wherever might that be. An energy so magnetic but the type of magnetism that pulls you in slowly, carefully, like a smooth caress and then when you least expect it you were pulled into his orbit and you were none the wiser.

It started when he would be in your space. Rushing towards you as he finishes his set, like he has a special radar that is exclusively for you. Whether you're observing him or the other players or talking to other staff members. Nothing will stop him from going to you. Smiling down at you with a boyish smile, engaging you in conversations like "What have you been up to?", "Are you here to supervise?", "Are you here to see me?", "I'm gonna practice my batting today, can you check my form?". It flustered you at first but it has been such a common occurence that it has failed to phase you anymore.

Then, he would message you outside working hours. Sending pictures and videos of his adventures with Dekopin, fully taking advantage at the fact that you are weak for cute animals. You guys would talk about the everyday mundane things like the weather, food, hobbies and many other things. Then came more personal questions that dug deeper to reveal more of each other. A peek inside this amazing athlete, the person inside. Grasping the melancholy he feels, the little joys in his days, the trepidation that tomorrow brings, the pressure of the pedestal that he was put on. He seemed a little more human, a little more relatable. A little more like a boy who dreamed big and is now living it but still grasping at what was lost.

Then came the invites. Inviting you outside working hours for food, hanging out at his home, tagging along at Dekopin's vet appointments and anywhere else you could think of. Of course, there is definetely skepticisms and wariness with all these invites. He was a man who has his whole country watching him through the media's lenses, whether it be from reputable sources or the tabloids. For him to be seen with a woman was a sentence. Sentenced to be lump into rumors and gossips. The man of the hour and his partner. It was a headline just waiting to happen. But you reasoned with yourself. Surely they are aware that you are one of the team physicians, right? Surely they'll think it's just an appointment outside working hours, a bit unconventional but people wouldn't think you guys are together, right? Right. No one will think so. You were just a team doctor hanging out with one of your team's player, nothing more. You said in your head like a mantra, as you accept his offers to go out. Truly hoping for it to be the case.

The realization came to you on a quiet night. You didn't mind the closeness of Shohei, you didn't mind that he would come running to you whenever he sees you, in fact you enjoyed seeing him jog to you and grace you with that ever so handsome smile of his. He fills your head with mindless ramblings and chats, you think you would hate it since you have learned to value silence as your companion but you found out you didn't. His voice and presence now accompanies you too. You found that you didn't mind being linked to him. You didn't mind if your face or name will be plastered on a headline on Japanese newspapers or tabloids by tomorrow. You didn't mind people writing about you and your relationship. It really doesn't matter. What matters is if he is happy, it matters if he is comfortable with you accompanying him to whatever and wherever and well, he is happy, he is comfortable. What matters is that you love him. You have learned that Shohei has wormed his way to your heart slowly but surely and he is there to stay, taking hold of a chunk of your heart. Ready to hold his hand tightly and face the world. Courageously love and be loved.

Shohei was intrigued by you, you were young, the youngest physician he has seen on the team and yet you managed to be one of the best orthopedic in the country and landing a job at Dodgers, well he might have also been struck by your outwardly appearance and honestly he isn't shy to admit that. You are beautiful.

You are a constant presence in his training, checking up on him and the others, taking special care of him and his recent surgery. He noticed how you're a little stoic, maintaining that air of professionalism like an armor, your brilliance showing through the improved physical care of the players and everyone surely took notice of it. But you were also coy, giving him small smiles or chuckles when he finds courage to talk to you or when you're assisting him on his rehab exercises, putting slight pressure on his forearms and chest, eyes shyly meeting his. It never fails to makes his heart flutter like a teenager.

You had a strong wall built around you, from past hurt, perhaps? He doesn't know but he vowed to himself that he will do anything to break it down or climb his way up over to you. Meticulously planning everything to give his heart and to have yours.

Shohei figures that you love cute and loveable things and he thinks Dekopin could be the best wingman for the job. He was cute and loveable, the perfect tool, the perfect excuse to message you. He knows you couldn't resist and from then on he would talk and talk until you'd answer, he didn't mind waiting he knows you're busy and he knows you might not be used to it. It's okay he'll glady start the conversation if it means getting to talk to you. He's patient and he will wait until you come around. The conversations turn personal at one point and he saw a little more of you. The anxious, perfectionist that is a tad bit hard on herself. A tortured genius, if you will. He can sympathize with you in that regard, with both being young people on such peaks of successes, people from your respective fields waiting on your next moves, ready to pounce when the chance arises. It's exhausting but he figured he wouldn't mind being exhausted together.

Shohei knows he's always being watched, he knows paparazzi are lurking at corners near the stadium, near his home, and wherever places he frequents to. He admits it is a little selfish of him to invite you to his home, or wherever outside work. He knows there is a big possibility of getting caught and photographed but he couldn't give a damn. He doesn't care if people speculates about his romantic life if it is with you. He doesn't mind giving out a statement that you and him are at a stage of getting to know each other. He doesn't mind declaring to the world that he only has eyes for you. He knows he's selfish, the press might hound you and pick you apart so he's careful when inviting you out. Always at odd hours, using an unusual and discreet car, making sure to cover your face when arriving and leaving his home. Yes, he is selfish but he is not to put you in any kind of pressure and danger. He cares about you too much to be too selfish.

On a perfect breezy midnight of spring he received a call from you, asking him if he was awake. His heart quickens, mouth dries a little, he answered you "Yes", with a light waver in his voice.

"Alright, wait for me, I'm coming over."

"Okay, I'll be waiting for you. Be safe."

His heart stutters in his chest, you have never called him first, never initiated on coming to his house, he was a little scared but your voice seems resolute like there is something that has to be done and he hopes deep deep in his heart that it is what he think it is.

You came knocking on his door after a few minutes and Shohei almost falls over trying to get to the door to get you. And there you were in your full glory, a little disheveled in your most comfortable sweater and sweats. The breeze caressing your hair, your skin. Shohei can't believe that he starts to get a little jealous of the way the breeze kisses you and be so upclose to you. You also take him in, in his loungewear shorts and thin sweatshirt, tousled hair and a slight pink tint to his full cheeks.

"May I come in?"

He's stunned for a little bit then clears his throat and replies, "Of course, come on in. Don't mind the mess Dekopin just destroyed another one of his toys".

As you guys shuffled inside his home, the air stills and there's an undeniable tension between the two of you. Shyly meeting each other's gaze for a minute and like magnets you draw towards each other. Timidly, you put your hands against Shohei's chest, both your hearts jumping out of your ribcages at the action.

"Is this okay?", you asked looking up at him through your eyelashes. Eyes flitting between his eyes and his lips. Shohei noticed the action and wrapped his arms around your torso, bringing you impossibly closer to him, he needs to feel you, he needs to feel your skin on his, your breath on his skin, your lips on his.

"Yes", he replied as he carefully places one of his hand on the back of your head. Slowly inching towards your lips.

"Is this also okay?", he asked lips almost touching yours as he spoke. You didn't waste your time and finally have your lips meet in a sweet embrace that slowly deepened into a dance of lips flitting at each other. The kiss was sweet and sensual, just like him, you think. The kiss was everything the both of you have hoped for. A kiss that says everything and a kiss that seals everything. You finally break away from each other to catch your breath, but lips still touching each other, exhanging breathes, panting on each other's lips.

"Thank you for being patient with me. I love you." You said to him, lips touching his as you speak. He gives you a long peck.

"I'll be here always waiting for you, I love you too. I love you." He utters to you sweetly, saying the last part in his native tongue. Conveying all the love he has in those words. He hopes that you can feel his sincerity, if not then he'll just have to show it to you every time until you can feel it.

Truly, spring has come and bloomed love both to you and Shohei.

A/N: I've been inspired by what the phrase "Spring has come" mean to both Korean and Japanese language ik its not yet spring but yeah I just rlly wanted to write about this. Hope you guys enjoyed it <3

[kakiastro]

April 8th Solar Eclipse: A time for healing & moving on

The first big event is upon us friends! I wanted to really break down what this solar eclipse can mean for us collectively. There’s so much fear lingering, misinformation and people just talking crazy about this.

First and foremost, eclipse happens every year so there’s no need to fear it but you should learn to respect its significance and spiritual backgrounds.

The reason this eclipse is getting widespread attention because subconsciously it’s calling us all to heal and step into a brand new chapter. This eclipse is conj Chiron exact and the NN(North Node). I’ll explain, keep reading.

Eclipse has always been symbolic for the endings and ushering a new beginning in your life. The etymology of the word eclipse means “fail to appear” and “to leave” things that no longer is good for us and is exiting out our lives whether we like it or not. Soul growth is at play here.

Solar(Sun) has always been related to leaders. now in our personal lives, it effects a certain part of our life. Depends on the house(area in life) the sign Aries is ruling for you.

Aries is the first zodiac sign, it’s the start of the spring season and always represents the start of new beginnings. Aries also rules over our actions, motivations. Aries rules over Men and masculine dom people. Aries rules the head, aggression, fighting. Leadership is also ruled by this sign.

The solar eclipse will be happening at the 19°(Libra degree)

Now we just had a Lunar Eclipse in Libra so this is just a continuation story.

19° is known as a karmic degree

Now the SN was conj this Lunar eclipse which means we started removing what no longer serves. This will be a theme for all of us for the next 4 years.

Now the Solar eclipse will conj the NN, so we’re in the phase of letting go while also starting new and trying to find ourselves.

Chiron will conj thiss eclipse exact. Chiron is known as the “wounded healer” but it’s also a teacher. We, as a collective is healing our wounds that we may have been holding on for a long time. Purge and release baby! Use this energy to purge and release so you can step into the new you and life!

Now whenever a planet enters a sign, we have to look a the signs planetary ruler to get a better glimpse of the energy.

Aries is ruled by Mars which is currently in Pisces. So this eclipse in a way is spiritual. Pisces is also the last zodiac and represents end of cycles, so this rotates back to Chiron and healing. A lot of subconscious things are being brought to the surface.

This is also a mental eclipse because Mercury is Rx in Aries. We are going to be communicating that hurt out loud. You may have moments of feeling triggered or what the tarot community calls a tower moment. Honey, I’m here to tell yall to let that tower fall and crumble because it’s time to start building that castle you hear me! 🗣️

We are healing mind, body and soul. Will it be easy? Nope! Will it be rewarding in the long run? You bet!

This solar eclipse energy will last for 2 years and including the lunar eclipse which is 4 years so a total of 6 years of this cycle of Aries/Libra storyline will wrote. Both eclipse heaviest energy last for 6month-year.

If you’re wondering how I calculated this, I did it based on how long each eclipse last. Solar is 2 hours and the lunar was 4 hours. Then I just added it together.

The only advice I would give anyone regarding this eclipse is to not look up at the eclipse without some type of solar sunglasses or you could mess up your eyesight. I personally don’t in believe looking at the sun at all during eclipse, but just soak in the energy, meditate, heal, write out your goals. I know some people are curious and there’s free will but I wouldn’t be a good astrologer if I didn’t tell you to please take eye precautions before yall do look up!

Also since this energy will be intense, headaches may happen so get some Tylenol or just a cold towel over your head!

No need to be scared, I know change is hella uncomfortable but it’s necessary! I’m wishing everyone the best with this energy!

[sparda-ly]

Hello! Can I request some DMC fluff, please? Like Dante and Vergil got sick somehow (idk, must be demon flu) and reader now has to take care of them. Separately, of course. I'd imagine Vergil is the type to try to power through it and fail miserably, lmao. While Dante eats up allll the attention his S/O gives him. It's up to you though :) Thanks and have a great day!

SICK! DANTE, VERGIL WITH A S/O WHO TAKES CARE OF THEM

UNSPECIFIED GENDER OF READER!

note: hey there ;) first dmc request, hope it's ok!

warnings: suggestive comment from dante

DANTE

dante probably got sick from his weird hobby of eating pizza naked on his balcony every morning

it doesn't matter if it's winter, summer, autumn, or spring - dante will not start his day without it

thinking he is immortal and invincible from getting any sickness, he unfortunately got proven wrong

and is currently laying in bed in the most dramatic way possible, having a wet cloth pressed to his forehead by lovely reader who keeps fussing over him

dante being dramatic is an understandment

however, dante while being sick is another type of drama queen

clinging to the reader and whining about the smallest things possible

"my head hurts so much honey please"

"i have such a bad tummy ache"

"love please don't leave me i might die here from this disease please"

one day he straight up sat on your leg not allowing you to go to the kitchen to wash dishes, acting like a child

you of course couldn't refuse and just agreed to this fate, getting cuddled to death by this himbo of a man

and dante absolutely loves this attention

"baby, i could name a few things you could help me with" ;)

and even five days after he returns to being a healthy man, he still whines about how bad he feels and oh so amazing reader you need to take care of him, or he will painfully die

the only thing stopping him is the tragic looks of bills to play, nearly staring at him menacingly from his desk

oh yeah, and also, vergil

his loving brother looking straight through his white lies, demanding him to stop lying and get his ass to work while rolling his eyes

VERGIL

vergil will never admit he is sick.

never.

even while practically fainting trying to get to the bathroom with wobbly legs

he still isn't sick, no, of course vergil

at the beginning, he will refuse your attention - saying the strangest excuses known to humanity such as

"a wild dog bit me"

"it's probably my devil trigger acting up"

"i have a penis infection"

the reader just stands there ??? confused as to how this is relevant to being ill

but you stay silent and walk to the bathroom with the intention of washing clothes

however when you return, vergil is already passed out on floor with litreally 40° celsius

but don't get him wrong, vergil still isn't sick

while pampering around him, constantly bringing him food, medicine, drink or anything to please him, he lays like a grumpy cats and just accepts this

vergil will learn to actually like this new side of you, although he does hate feeling useless and weak.

therefore, he will return to work as soon as possible, so don't get so comfortable fussing around your lovely boyfriend

[pinkhairedlily]

"sakura, good morning!" shizune waves her over and gives her coffee.

"busy day huh." most days, she's thankful the hospital staff already knows her preferred brew—dark, hot, bitter.

"you wouldn't believe what just happened though." shizune sips her iced latte. "sasuke asked for your schedule."

sakura takes a beat to reply, savoring instead the aromatic notes that slowly wake her 18-hour-shift-riddled senses. "oh yeah. we agreed to discuss new chore arrangements."

"you're living together."

"he's sleeping over."

"living. together."

"should i blush?" sakura winces. "besides, it has only been a few months. well, a year."

shizune slaps her back and leaves in a giddy. "you're already blushing, lover girl."

===

"hey thanks for dropping these off." naruto grins at her through towering stacks of folders.

"we really should organize a courier system or tap into those digital things gaara has been using in suna."

"totally agree with you." he hands her a chocolate bar. for a few minutes, they pass the sugar supply back and forth, grateful for the silence and the little indulgent treat from olden days.

"by the way, sasuke has been asking some weird things."

"such as?"

"like your favorite color, favorite food, favorite music." naruto gets the last chocolate cube. he cracks it into uneven halves and gives the smaller one to her, as usual. "so i told him mine are red and shoyu ramen."

sakura laughs and pops the piece into her mouth. "back to work, future hokage-san."

===

"where's ino?"

sai hands her an apron and an order slip. sakura releases a petulant sigh, rolls her eyes, and begins to pick the flowers listed. she waits until sai settles on the presentation and prods again.

"supplier issue." he shows her a peony and a carnation.

"the peony definitely."

sai shrugs and finishes off the bouquet. "we had a curious customer earlier."

"hmm?"

"sasuke came in. he said he didn't want reds. it would be too obvious, he said. so i suggested whites."

"mums?"

"uh-uh and roses and lilies."

sakura turns pensive at this. "he must have bought them for his family." she smiles at sai and pats him on the shoulder. "you're sometimes kind-hearted, aren't you?"

sai's fixed smile fades. "sakura, he didn't—"

a customer dings the bell and sakura, already sensing sai's intention, slips out of the boutique like a true swift kunoichi.

===

"haruno-san."

"yes, i know it's midnight and i need to go home."

the guard loiters by her door. "actually, you have a visitor. he's at the wisteria arch."

"oh? but it's so late. can't this wait until morning?"

"it's the uchiha ma'am," the guard purses his lips, "he's been camping since eight in the evening."

sakura runs. she hates running in corridors, particularly when half of the people are asleep, but she manages to reach the grounds without an ambush diagnostic or a surprise checkup.

sasuke is waiting. there is a picnic blanket in a hideous shade of bright red under him, a basket, a bouquet, a bottle of wine that must be lukewarm by now.

"shizune said you were free tonight," he said.

"what's all this for?" sakura has to catch her breath. she sits across him and takes him in. gorgeous, even under the pale moonlight.

"i never got the right answers." sasuke pulls every item out of the basket. thermos for hot water, instant ramen packs, dango, a lunchbox that smells like curry, spring rolls. "i don't know exactly what you like. i don't know if you still like the food that you liked when we were kids."

"i still have a sweet tooth," sakura chuckles as she reaches for the dango.

"but i noticed you always ask me to cook curry and you never fail to look for spring rolls." 

"because you cook curry the best, sasuke-kun, that's why i love it the most."

he avoids her chiding glance and hands her instead the bunch of daffodils. "i also don't know if you still like these flowers. you would pick them up in the forest, remember? trying to make me and naruto and kakashi wear these crowns of yellow blooms."

sakura laughs at the surfacing memories. "they're very beautiful, sasuke-kun." she basks for a while in the afterglow of his awkward yet patient persistence as he scoots closer to her side and slowly brushes her fingers against his in reacquaintance.

"what's with all these though? what did i miss?" sakura entangles their hands together, his thumb caressing her knuckles.

"happy anniversary."

"..."

"..."

"fuck."

"not here sakura."

"i forgot about it! fuck!"

"it's okay, let me." sasuke plants her down with a hand on her cheek. "you're busy, and there are few things in life i look forward in celebrating."

"i'm so sorry."

"i think it's me who has to apologize. i haven't nailed down everything."

"well, we've got the rest of our lives to figure that out."

sasuke hides a smile. "that's a plan."

[yuesgirlfriend]

of birds and honey

(simon "ghost" riley x reader) medieval AU

part 1/part 2/part 3

warnings: canon typical violence, masturbation (afab)

A week passes without much happening.

Excitement over new knights has died down, and the people go back to their regular routine. Wool is spun, gardens are weeded, new straw with sweet smelling sprigs of rosemary is spread over the floor. Peasants in distant fields begin planting and tilling as spring slowly settles into the dreary air. 

 She feigns reading when her father discusses defenses with the Knight Commander Price, hears gossip of French ships breaching southern shores by the kitchens, and overhears one of the knights (Garrick, she heard his name was) express worry about leaked battle plans and French spies. 

She does not see the man called Ghost again, until one afternoon she is practicing embroidery while balanced on a windowsill overlooking the courtyard. 

Shouts sound out from down below- when she glances down, a small crowd has gathered around two figures circling eachother.  

She rushes to the scene when sounds of steel striking steel begin to ring out. Down the stairs, past the hall, through the kitchens, and there he is- Ghost- swinging a blade towards another knight.

 A duel, a duel! Sir Graves and the Ghost!

Says one of the stable boys as the other man- Graves- dodges another strike. She pushes her way to the front of the crowd, needing to see every line of Ghost’s armored body as he grunts and dodges. He moves like he is dancing, brutal and calculated. 

Duels are vicious, bloody ordeals- very few have ever happened under her fathers watch, the clergy under his thumb finding the merciless bloodshed godless. But now her father watches from his balcony as Ghost parries Graves thrust and, with one fluid motion, takes his head. 

Something wet and warm splatters across her face. She doesn’t flinch. 

While Ghost holds the mans head by the helmet and roars warnings of what happens to traitors to the rest of the watching, silent knights and crowd of stunned servants, she stares at the red hot blood splattered across her shoes and silken surcoat and tries to put a name to the feeling coiling in her stomach. 

The sky is streaked with red as the run sets into the horizon, as if God saw the blood in the courtyard and took inspiration. Every sound and color seems muted, unable to break through the buzzing in her ears. She spends the rest of the evening picking flecks of blood off her face, feigning a headache and skipping dinner. 

Her hands don’t stop shaking, and she’s filled with the need to run, to move. Once the sun sets, she slinks out of her room. Favoring the shadows and moving only when sentries are turned away, she makes her way to the highest peak of outer wall. The stars peek over the horizon, the moon hanging above them like a pearl. 

A shiver runs through her when her eyes land on the hulking form standing over the parapet. She moves on soundless, slippered feet towards him. 

“Lady.” He says as if in greeting. How he heard her, she’ll never know. 

“It must be true, what the cook says.” She steps up beside him, overlooking the dark his surrounding the castle, the plains muddled together under the blanket of night. 

“And what is that?” His voice is gruff, his hood up over his masked face. 

“That you have got eyes in the back of your head.” 

That’s the abridged version of what the cook had said; she had overheard the old man telling the maids of rumors he had heard- that the Ghost was the spawn of the devil, a witches son, a biblically deformed creature hiding 9 eyes and countless heads beneath the mask.

Something vindictive and admittedly childish had rose up in her and led to her placing several handfuls of nettles in the cooks bed. 

She refused to feel guilty, even when she spotted the irritated welts on the mans skin the next day- was it not the prophet Amos who said to let justice roll on like a river, and righteousness like a never-failing stream? 

He lets out a huff. Something tells her this is as close to a laugh as he will give her. For a long moment, there is only silence broken by the occasional scurry of a rat, as they stand watching the night where it’s unfolded before them. 

“There’s a storm on it’s way, lady.” His gloved fingers tighten where they grip the stone. She wishes he would turn, so she could see his eyes. “It’d be wise if your father sent you somewhere far.”  

“I’m stronger than I seem- have faith, I can weather any storm, sir. And the stronghold is well defended.” 

“‘S not the stronghold I worry about. It’s the people.” Finally, he turns to face her- in the moonlight, his eyes look like moons themselves, haloed by a dark night of greasepaint. 

“Be careful who you trust, lady.” In one fluid motion, he takes off his cloak and wraps it around her shoulders before bodily turning her away. “Get back inside. You’re father would have my head if I let ya freeze.” 

She follows his orders without question. Maybe he really is a witches son,  she thinks as she slinks back into her quarters. 

The fire is nothing more than a collection of dim coals, now. Wrapping the Ghost’s cloak tighter around herself, she tosses another log onto the fire and crawls into her bed. 

The feeling from earlier that day is back- the tensing, the coiling in her stomach, the heat in her abdomen as if someone is churning her chest over hot coals. Usually venturing out at night cures her of this incessent, shaky need to move, but this time, it had only exacerbated it. 

Squirming around, she buries her nose in his cloak. Ghost’s cloak. It smells of lye soap, wood ash, cold night air.  

Some kind of hot and heavy pressure hangs in her stomach- her thighs rub together, twisted around her sheet, and that seems to help for a moment, but then it gets worse. 

Without thinking, she sends a trembling hand down between her legs- to her womanhood, as her old governess would have said- and adds more pressure. And, oh-  that is new.

She hesitantly moves this wetness around, up and down, until her back arches off the mattress, until she masters this new feeling and she has to bury her moans in the rough frabric of Ghost’s cloak.

[fullmetal-scar-simping]

I really think father and hohenheim should have been the same character? I mean, father is such a bland villain. Maybe I just haven't looked enough but I haven't seen even the most hardcore bh fans talk about him? It's all just about how ed punched god or whatever. No one's actually interested in the guy himself. I can think of several ways them being the same person would make it a lot more interesting, at least to me. I mean, first of all ed and al having to fight their own shitty father is some delicious angst. Second I really like the mad scientist type character and that's what hoho would be in that scenario. Third I think it would be fun to analyse the "sins" he took out of himself if he was a human to begin with. Ohh and come to think of it, it would go really well with Ed's whole "alchemists are the closest things to God yadda yadda" speech in the beginning wouldn't it? Honestly I can't think of any reason why they had to be different people at all...Ah, except how can I forget. Arakawa's writing this. Of course they have to be two different people. One who actually did all the wrong things and the loving father and husband who's going around trying to make everything right(nevermind that he left Trisha to care for their 4-5 yos all alone with no support. Nuh uh he's perfect) If she held the fact that the two can in fact be the same person it might just explode her world. I'm rolling my eyes.

Father and Hohenheim as the same character? Who is a mad scientist? Who as a result reimburses Ed's pompous "Alchemists are the closest things to god"? Blends aspects of being an unforgivable monster with having loved his family? I've got your guy!

🎉Hohenheim of Light!🎉

Oh sure, he's not the final big bad that the Elric bros have to fight, and sure he's more of a retired villain who's mildly penitent for his centuries of bloodshed, rather than continuing to enact widespread destruction. But we do get to see the results of all his transgressions against humanity and his own first son too! So, 🎉 ta-da! 🎉

To actually address your ask:

Besides what 03 had already done, for awhile I actually thought Father WAS Hohenheim in Brotherhood.

To clarify: I avoided the online fandom from 2009 onward in order to prevent getting spoiled for the (at the time) new fma adaptation. I kept putting off watching it for well over a decade (lol), and for no other reason then a combo of 1) not being in the mood for more fma, and 2) when I was, I would immediately run right back to fma 03 without fail, and then be so thoroughly satisfied with revisiting a long time fave that I just. Would put off watching Broho for another time.

Still, being online in any capacity meant that every once in awhile I was unavoidably being exposed to the odd screenshot, text post, and fanart. No big deal, nothing really spoiled anything heavily enough for me to know the full story, and I could easily scroll away before making sense out of anything.

But I did one day stumble into a screenshot of Father glowering in his underground throne. And here I thought "Oh shit! Hohenheim is actually in full villain mode this time around?! We're going to actually explore the mass annihilation he commits for philosopher stones and how his sons will have to contend with their own father. This will surely dig even deeper into Ed and Al's heel turn against the military, and what alchemy means as a method of power and control. Man, this is gonna fuck!"

lol

lmao even

So to my now endless disappointment I finally watched Brotherhood this last spring. And although I surprisingly liked* this affable, bumbling, rather tragic version of Hohenheim (which stumps me, given my initial assumption for Brotherhood AND being a long time Hohenheim of Light enjoyer) (I still like Hoho of Light more tho), Father was such a fucking let down on every front.

*Don't get me wrong, I'm not claiming Von Hohenheim didn't do wrong against Trisha and his kids. As much as he had to build the anti-circle around Amestris, it doesn't erase the fact that Trisha had to shoulder the full burden of raising their kids, and child Ed's sense of abandonment and outrage against him is highly warranted.

Even keeping Father as a homunculus that duplicates Hohenheim's appearance, he still could have been an interesting character and villain. But every step of the way he was just the obvious big bad mostly relegated to the background, stored away except for a few key encounters and flashbacks. He was paper thin, an easy excuse for why the core ills of Amestris are all his exclusive fault, and conveniently the canon has an in-baked reason for why he has the personality and stage presence of cardboard. Woo. hoo.

God the lore and function of homunculi blows in mangahood. At the very least make me actually feel like they are parts of this once former-cyclops in a bottle! And still make Father an actually compelling character! In fact the other homunculi could have potentially been an effective vehicle for that, but noooooo-

Honestly, I agree. It would have been so much more affecting for Hohenheim and Father to be one, singular character. Of course much of his backstory would have to change, but that's not a loss in my hater's opinion. The implications for the Elrics, for their paradigms to be entirely torn asunder and have to be rebuilt in order to survive and make sense out of their position in Amestris, it would have been juicy.

You're right, I have seen next to no deeper interest or investment into Father as a character and as a narrative device from hardcore fans either. I'm sure it does exist, given Brotherhood's immense popularity, but damn if we can be forgiven for getting the impression that most fans just don't give a rat's unseasoned ass. I see more posts and fanart for Von Hohenheim than I do Father lol

Mangahood simply can't have (or actually address) any truly murky topics, or depict messy and complex characterization, if it doesn't ultimately shine the brightest, most admirable, most absolving light on our protags as possible. So why would Von Hohenheim have anything to do with Father besides having been his victim?

We remain starved by the emaciated, sorry excuse for 'pathos' that is Father's whole deal. What a shame.

[artsspangledpumpkin]

Because I love worldbuilding so much, I decided to create an Ozian Calendar and thought I'd share it.

The Ozian day is 26 hours long, there are seven days in a week, twelve weeks in a season, and four seasons in a year, leading to 336 days in a year. Each year is symmetrical, each day falling on the same day of the week without fail. The days of the week are named after seven of Lurline’s fairies who helped her construct Oz in the beginning when everything still needed moving along. The Calendar is based on the Lunar cycle.

The names of Lurline's fairies who helped her form Oz: Mona, Tuesin, Wednessa, Thur, Fridda, Saturno, and Sun.

The format for the Ozian Calendar is read DAY SEASON YEAR. Before the Wizard of Oz took over, the calendar followed the Ozma Dynasty so it would read 54 SPRING 3104 Y.O.L.O (or Year of Our Lady Ozma). After Oscar takes over the format is 54 SPRING 1 D.O. (or Dynasty of Oz)

Note: This list of holidays and their dates are not canon or comprehensive. You don’t have to use any of these or you can come up with your own. I’d love to hear about them.

HOLIDAYS under the cut

New Years Day/Winter Solstice: 1 WINTER

Vinkun Festival of Lights: 84 AUTUMN - 7 WINTER

The Festival of Lights lasts eight days and celebrates both the end of the Ozian Calendar year. Over the course of the festival, candles are slowly lit adding one each night to represent the days getting longer and hopes of a good spring. Some areas go to temples to make wishes and ask for good fortune for the New Year while other areas release paper lanterns with their wishes written inside.

Lurlinemas: 6-7 WINTER (Ozian version of Christmas)

Day of Queens: 15 WINTER

In some sections of Oz, this is the day children are given presents instead of on Lurlinemas. Schools use this day to host pageants and talent shows.

St. Amora’s Day: 43 WINTER

Amora was a matchmaker who would bring couples together and help them fall in love by using enchanted arrows. She fell in love with a mortal man, but her arrows didn’t work on him so she had to woo him the old fashioned way. She presented him with sweet smelling flowers to make his days bright and fragrant and sugared dates and honeyed nuts to give him sweetness, and though she was busy she set aside time to be with him. They fell in love, but the day they were meant to be wed, he was killed. Every anniversary, she brought flowers and sweets to his grave. She never loved again, her heart bleeding so much, her bird companions offered to share her pain. Tradition lives on in showing your sweetheart that you care about them by giving flowers and sweets and decorations of hearts and punays.

Discount Candy Day: 44 WINTER

St. Rependi’s Day: 71 WINTER

Brother to St. Amora, represents requited (or unrequited) love. This day is used to give return presents (or dish out rejections) given by admirers on St. Amora’s day

Spring Equinox: 1 SPRING

St. Platonia’s Day: 15 SPRING

A day for children to show appreciation to their parents.

Earth Day: 43 SPRING

Deemed the day to celebrate the creation of Oz. Usually spent by showing appreciation to nature which now moves by itself rather than needing help by Lurline’s fairies to move along.

Cotillion (Munchkinland): 61-63 SPRING

Traditionally for matchmaking, now used as one big debutante ball for all who have come of age in the past year. Wealthier families have balls for one child, though it’s more common to wait for Cotillion so everyone enters the season together.

Vinkun Festival of Trees: 40-43 SPRING

Gillikin Spring Festival: 40-47 SPRING

Munchkin Spring Festival: 40-46 SPRING

Vinkun Poppy Festival: 67 SPRING

Summer Solstice: 1 SUMMER

Vinkun Summer Solstice Festival: 1 - 8 SUMMER

Festival begun to hope for a good harvest in the autumn. Celebrated with bonfires, dancing, and good food. Midway point of festival a sacrifice is offered up in the bonfire. Since Great Drought the “sacrifice” is a bundle of grass and a wooden animal. Second to last day is spent fasting and at temples, final day has a huge feast. More devout households and the temples will begin the festival with eight candles and extinguish one each day to represent the days becoming shorter and to remind that the days of plenty are temporary just as the lean days are.

Music Festival (Quadling Country): 78 SUMMER

Autumn Equinox: 1 AUTUMN

Wizard Arrival Day: 2 AUTUMN

Vinkun Harvest Festival: 36-42 AUTUMN

Celebrates end of the harvest and is traditionally a way for tribes to get together to exchange goods. People clean their homes and prepare for winter during this time

St. Sowren’s Day: 43 AUTUMN

On this day, the realms of Oz would shift where the angels and fairies could not cross into Oz, but the creatures of the demon realm could, leaving them unchecked. St. Sowren was left behind before they could return to their realm and they discovered that by donning frightening masks and offering up sweets to anyone scary enough, the demons grew confused and would leave the disguised alone, suspicious of their gifts.

Gillikin custom dictates this is a day to visit family graves and shrines which they clean and leave offerings on inviting their deceased loved ones home for the evening for a party. A day of remembrance. In the last century, costumes are also worn by children to collect treats (part of their haul is shared with their family) or by adults for parties.

Ozma De-throned Day: 68 AUTUMN

New Year’s Eve: 84 AUTUMN

[cilil]

Headcanons: The Day of Love

I felt spontaneously inspired to write down my headcanons (yes, I've thought of this before a few times) for Valentine's Day in Valinor, or, as it's known there, the Day of Love, featuring both Ainur and Elves. Enjoy!

♡ The establishment of a dedicated holiday to celebrate couples and other forms of love and companionship was, as certain people (*cough* Melkor) would snidely remark in later ages, most likely inevitable due to Manwë being a hopeless romantic and Irmo's penchant for playing matchmaker (and subsequently winning bets he made with his wife and siblings).

♡ After Tulkas and Nessa were wed - within the circles of Arda, unlike the other Valar who espoused their partners earlier - Manwë was inspired to take action and create this holiday, as everyone had greatly enjoyed the festivities and many wished to have the opportunity to express their affection for their loved ones in a similar manner, without the pomp of a wedding.

♡ It was decided that the Day of Love would be in spring, as per Vána's suggestion. To this day, there's still some debate among the inhabitants of Valinor whether she simply thought the season was appropriate or whether she was making a thinly veiled mating season joke; the Ever-young, however, has declined to comment on this. It takes place in the month of Súlimë (March), much to the delight of Manwë, usually within the third week since this is (roughly) the beginning of the season, as determined by Yavanna and Vána.

♡ Over the ages, various traditions evolved. Among the first and most notable to this day is Manwë's poetry soirée, where everyone is invited to share their romantic poems and other writings - a special iteration of his regular writing group get-togethers that strives to be as inclusive and affirming as possible. Ever since the first Day of Love was celebrated, Manwë has written a new poem for his beloved queen every single year, and Varda shows her appreciation with breath-taking meteor showers. The event has naturally become important to the Vanyar in particular, especially those who are regulars among Manwë's fellow poetry enjoyers.

♡ Irmo and Estë take great pleasure in hosting a "casual tea time feast" (as described by the Lord of Lórien himself) that welcomes not only couples or friend groups, but also explicitly those who feel lonely on such a day and would like some easy company. While Estë and her Maiar serve herbal teas for health and good spirits and bake lots of delicious cakes and other treats, Irmo prepares his (in)famous punch which so far has never failed to get a party going and distributes special "love candy" that has also come under scrutiny a few times, but is still consumed with great delight by those who dare.

♡ Aside from (more or less) innocent tea party shenanigans, Irmo is wide awake on the Day of Love for different reasons as well, mutating into the kind of entity we know as Cupid. The use of arrows has been forbidden, but that does little to stop the Lord of Dreams and Desire from making his OTPs come true by providing a little bit of "assistance". He gleefully plants courage and inspiration into the hearts and minds of Ainur and Elves alike, so that they may finally confess those feelings they have been carrying around for too long. It has been alleged that he has attempted to play bingo with his brother in regards to these things coming to pass, yet nothing could be proven and Námo, as usual, was silent.

♡ Oromë, being in good spirits as hunting season is drawing near, likes to host a special hunting events where couples (and throuples and so on, naturally) can either compete against each other or team up to hunt and see if their love is strong enough to catch even the greatest prey. While it's all in good fun and the competitive side isn't taken seriously, Oromë and his people do hold the belief that the ability to work together and cooperate, as well as engaging in friendly, playful competitions without hostility or ill will, are important parts of a relationship of any kind and thus can be a good test for couples looking to get married in particular. It is also worth noting that the hunting duels of Aredhel and Celegorm have become particularly infamous and are to this day lauded as a great example.

♡ Tulkas, as always, is looking for a fun little fight and a good laugh, and those sharing his passion are welcome in his mansion for a special kind of celebration. Many Elves and Ainur alike seek to prove themselves in battle against their peers to win the affection and admiration of whoever they wish to court, as well as engage in friendly duels with their friends and loved ones. Making sure that everything is as fair as it can be, Tulkas presides over these fights with glowing pride and invites all participants to attend a great feast after.

♡ Said feast is usually coupled with a special performance by Nessa and her Maiar, as well as others who wish to join them, and afterwards everyone is invited to dance with their partners. It is not unusual for non-martially-inclined couples to spend their day elsewhere but attend Nessa's dance party in the evening, and oftentimes the lord and lady can also be seen on the dance floor together.

♡ For Yavanna and Vána, the Day of Love is yet another instance of their boundless generosity. The two Valier share their gifts and boons freely, providing flowers, fruits and materials for the crafting of presents; sometimes even advice to those who seek it. Year after year, their husbands show their gratitude - as well as vicariously for the rest of Valinor - by crafting and hunting special gifts for them, and it is said that the trees and flowers bloom even more beautifully on that day to celebrate their ladies' joy.

♡ Among the Elves, traditions are varied as well. Particularly famous is the pearl-diving of the Teleri, a test of both courage and skill where young and old lovers alike venture out into the sea and seek to find the most beautiful pearls to bring home to their partners. Ulmo gives his blessings freely to all who attempt such a feat and, together with his Maiar, makes sure that everyone returns home safely; over the years, many a daring Elf had to be fished out of more perilous waters. These pearls - and other treasures that were found - are particularly precious to the Teleri and objects crafted from or with them may even become family heirlooms.

♡ The Noldor, together with Aulë, Vairë and their Maiar, spend a lot of time before the Day of Love crafting wonderful gifts for their loved ones. These creations are a matter of great pride and may hold a lot of different, intricate meanings, often being a key component in courtship. Aside from all sorts of trinkets, couples are often seen exchanging promise jewelry. A particularly noteworthy occurrence over the years was the unveiling of a great Fëanor statue, made by none other than Nerdanel during their courtship, and to this day spectators claim that they have never seen Fëanor this speechless before or after.

♡ The Vanyar, aside from attending the festivities in Ilmarin, are also fond of music and love to sing or otherwise perform for their loved ones. Such performances are often done with special costumes and instruments, and the gifting of instruments is regarded as something especially intimate and meaningful. Those among the Maiar of Manwë and Varda who are not too fond of poetry like to join the Vanyar instead, offering their own songs and arts as entertainment. Eönwë and other avian Ainur are regularly asked for their feathers and even grow special plumage to accommodate these requests.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to take inspiration from these (though as always a little shout-out is appreciated if you create your own stuff based on this post ♡).

[saintmuses]

❝𝙄 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙗𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙖𝙮, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙤 𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙜𝙤❞

Pairing:

Thomas Shelby x “Dead” Wife!Reader

Summary:

Thomas’ wife died in his arms that fateful night, so how was she standing in front of him years later? Too much time and space led them to having a conversation that was long overdue.

Warning(s): Both POVs. Angst. Jealousy. Emotional infidelity. Mutual pining. Fluff. Undefined ending (ambiguous?). Minors, dni! Note: I was listening to Dolly Parton’s I Will Always Love You when I wrote this!

Word Count: 2.9k

October 1931 

“Thomas.” A whisper.

His crystal blue eyes stared blankly at the woman in front of him. She looked…different as if she was living within time and not the other way around. Not as a ghost.

The last time he had seen her was seven years ago. One moment she was looking at him with soft twinkles in her depths, with a smile that felt like warm spring and the next her eyes were empty, lifeless with blood smeared across her chest as she died in his arms. Or so he had thought. She was dead, right? The doctor who was tending to her that night had informed him that she lost too much blood which was the reason why she did not make it. Even went far as to tell him the time of death.

She may have been declared dead in the hospital, but she had died in his arms.

He inhaled slowly, as he sought for her scent as he looked at her tentatively. Not believing she was standing in front of him all this time.

“Y/N?” 

A few hours later she was standing by the bookshelves at the Arrow House as her sharp eyes took in the scene before her. The Shelby family were scattered across the room of Thomas’ office. They were all clamoring to each other, arguing in hushed voices as they try to figure out how to place her in a society that lived on. Seven years was a long time and much had changed in terms of trying to integrate within society.

The only people missing were John and Esme including their children. John Shelby had been dead for a few years now, and his wife had left with children because why else would she want to stay with a family who brought nothing but death due ambition they had not yet found the limit to, and enemies that was made in the process of climbing their way to the top of the world?

She also made a mental note of new additions that weren’t in the room with them. Arthur and Linda’s child, along with Thomas’ daughter and wife, Lizzie. Imagine her surprise before she was released from the hellhole she had been suffering in she was told stories upon stories about the Shelby family that was once hers.

She was unfazed by the sight in front of her, but it still did not take away the searing pain that rushed through her when she saw the family lived those seven years that she couldn’t.

She decided to end the argument with a simple statement. “I would just say I’m her twin,” she said wryly. They all stared at her with apprehension in their eyes as if this plan was going to fail before it ever got the chance to begin.

January 1932

A brimming fire that was lit every night in his office, and a glass of Irish whiskey didn't prevent the loneliness that he was very familiar with for years now especially after when he thought Y/N died. It had only worsened when she left despite not being that far away from him.

When he was in London to deal with the parliamentary hearings back in December, he found out she had found herself a shelter at Ada’s house. He would not call it a home for her because her home was here at the Arrow House. Not anywhere else.

He had fell into an indescribable rage when he came home to find her and her belongings -she had chosen for herself after settling back into society- gone without any trace. The staff had to clean the pile of broken crystal tumblers by the fireplace the next day.

He was forced to let her go when she was dead, and now he couldn’t have her back when she was alive.

When she was living at the Arrow House, they would just walked past each other in hallways with stilted conversations that ended after three sentences. It hurt him to look at her and not being able to kiss her with everything he had and hold her in his arms. He wanted to do that despite being married to someone else. If he was a better man, he would’ve done the right thing and divorce Lizzie to end her and his suffering, but he knew Y/N wouldn’t want him to do that just because she was a ghost that came back to the land of living, figuratively and he has his children to think about despite wanting to be selfish. If he was a better man, he would’ve not done things like he had in the last seven years. He would’ve done better.

Polly came by earlier and accidentally dropped a hint with an undefined twinkle in her eyes that Y/N was enjoying a night out at the Garrison. The implications were there, he was sure of it. 

The logical thing to do was to let her be, she could rebuild her life at the shelter she decided to run away to hide in and find herself a gentleman who could make her happy again after these years that was taken from her. Unfortunately for someone like Thomas Shelby, he would never let logic dictate him when he was filled with fire ashes and brimstone.

If he was a better man, he would’ve done the right thing and let her go.

It was lively inside of the building once he entered the pub. It was a world difference inside than it was outside with the street resembling the dead quiet of a night.

His eyes scanned the bustling crowd, eyes twitching at the sounds of laughter scattered across the room, and his jaw clenched slightly when his eyes found the target. 

She was sitting in the booth at the corner of the pub, laughing at the unknown man’s jokes. He was fairly certain that the jokes the stranger was telling weren’t funny at all.

Or perhaps he wasn’t a funny man because he rarely found anything funny anymore. Thomas thought to himself.

“Everyone, get out now!” His shout in the shape of a command pierced through the lively crowd, cutting the atmosphere into cold and deadly quiet except for the gramophone that was spouting out some sort of music.

She turned her head toward the right to see Thomas giving the man she was on a date with a cold set of icy eyes as they walked past each other. She internally sighed, knowing he was a time ticking bomb waiting to be triggered.

She played with the glass in her hand as he removed his overcoat, placing it on padding of the booth.

“Why are you here, Thomas?” She asked, with tiredness in her eyes as she looked at the man sitting across from her.

Obviously, he was not going to answer her question with the way he was giving her a silent treatment despite the fact he was looking at her with indescribable look on his handsome face albeit haunted by the past. Her.

She stared at him momentarily before scoffing. “You’re wasting your time coming all the way out here. Go back to your office, and drink whatever the fuck you drink nowadays and smoke until there’s nothing left to smoke since that’s all you’re good at. The way I live my life now is not your problem anymore.”

His stoic stance weakened after she spat out the words at him. “You think you’re not…” he trailed off, before narrowing his gaze at her. “You think you’re not my problem anymore?” Sounding nearly incredulous at her flippant attitude.

“Aren’t you? Seven years had been gone and this is what you do now as if I’m not your problem.” 

“‘Course you’re my fucking problem. I’m fucking hurting inside,” he snapped, icy eyes blazing with frustration. “That’s why I’m always holed up in the office because I don’t know how to deal with someone who was supposed to be dead, supposed to be a ghost in the paintings. I’m dealing with it by drinking whatever the fuck I’m drinking nowadays, and smoking ‘til there’s nothing left to smoke.” He used her words in a slight twisted way, almost mockingly. “Let get this one thing straight, you are my fucking problem, but you always will be because we both know the truth.” He wanted to say you’re my problem because I still fucking love you as if those years hadn’t passed, and you know that too. However, he didn’t. “I sit in there all the time with fire as my companion, especially now when you’re avoiding the house and you’re avoiding me as well.” He growled at her, but his tone twinged with anguish at the truth despite the fact he couldn’t handle her being around, he wanted her to stay. If he was a good man, he wouldn’t want to make her his problem ever so willingly. 

The brown liquid sloshed on the sides heavily before it spilled over the glass as she slammed it down on top of the table in front of her. “It’s hard for me to be in that house with everything that I…” don’t even have anymore, she thought to herself. “Bless Lizzie. She is Charlie’s mum despite the fact I was the one who gave birth to him because she is the one he knows…but it doesn’t mean it hurts any less because he can’t even look at me.” She chuckled as bitterness rolled through her veins. Her eyes landed on the patterns of the wood in the table because she refused to look at Thomas as she continued. “And I have to watch you be someone else’s husband, and it hurts because you’re not mine. Not anymore.” She shook her head, biting down her bottom lip. “You may have married to her on a piece of paper, but you aren’t even remotely loyal to her because you whored yourself around to the point where I’m fucking surprised you didn’t even get a case of goddamn syphilis, and I know you stopped doing that the moment you found out I was alive.”

“You have any idea how much it hurts to know all this shit you’ve been doing for years? You were self-destructing then, and you are still doing it now!” She snapped; her eyes landed on Thomas’ unrelenting gaze which made her a bit nervous because it meant he was on autopilot. Inner turmoil rolling through him, of that she was sure of. “You also refused to remove the portraits after I was gone, and now they just remind me of memories that don’t belong in this time, the things I don’t have anymore.” She exhaled before lifting the glass to her lips, tilting the crystal object to feel the burn of the liquid that spilled into her mouth before placing the glass back on the surface. 

“I may be alive, but I did die in your arms that night, and seven years went by because I never had a choice. I haven’t lived my life either in those years I was gone. Life goes on, and I know that. You’re living your life and I have to start mine in a different time and different place.” Resentment rolled through her veins as anger crashed in waves inside of her mind as she thought back to the moment when she found out she had been a ghost for almost a decade. She couldn’t count the days that had been gone where she was holed up at.

“I have to move on, Thomas. You can’t be angry at me for that,” she whispered, swallowing thickly as she hated those words that came out of her mouth.

Fuck. He seethed internally, inhaling sharply to remind himself to settle down. He understood why she had to move on, although he wished she wasn’t trying to. Despite the fact he was married to Lizzie, he could barely move on these days when he thought Y/N died in his arms. However, it became much more harder nowadays because she was sitting in front of him, and she was not a ghost anymore who haunted him from his past. Instead, she was a living breathing person who was trying to move on because she felt she had to. Fuck.

And here they were. Suffering because she was alive in front of him and he had a life without her, the one he had because life went on, it never stopped.

He was married to Lizzie for his daughter’s sake, due to his position in Parliament. If he hadn’t gotten her impregnated then…or if he had noticed something was different that night when Y/N fell into his arms…“I’m not angry at you, I’m angry at myself.”

“Why?” She was perplexed despite knowing him well enough that his anger was rarely directed at her.

“If I had known there was something amiss…”

She interrupted him softly, “how would you? You thought I died in your arms. There was nothing to be amiss. It was the end.” She pointed out nearly casually as if she was quoting the Bible.

He slammed his fist onto the table, the crystal tumblers that was on the furniture rattled violently in response to the force of his hand. “It shouldn’t have to be!” He roared as his eyes darkened. His brummie accent thundering in the emptiness of the pub. “I didn’t have a choice, Y/N. We both didn’t. That bastard took you away from me, from Charlie…took time from us. He took everything from us. From me!” He was nearly frothing at the mouth with spittle flying everywhere due to how angry he was.

So close.

“Thomas,” she paused after observing his facial expression abridged in anger and anguish. “We have…time.” It was a statement she thought she would never get to say. “Obviously we have a lot to talk about. Even the things we don’t want to, but we have to.” She murmured, reaching to trace her finger onto the rim of her glass. “For now, we just pretend that the world is not all fucked up. The moment the time strikes eleven in the morning, that is when we will talk about the last seven years with transparency. Can we do that?”

Thomas stared at her, unblinkingly as the anger receded before nodding slightly in acknowledgment. It was agreeable considering he had a perchance of needing to know what happened to her.

After all it was one of the rotating questions that ran through his mind whenever he looked at her. What had happened to you while you were away? What happened to you that I couldn’t protect you from? What happened?

Soft notes of the music wafted through the quiet air of Garrison.

“We’re in a different time,” he murmured, gazing down at her with softened eyes. “And many things have changed,” he acknowledged reluctantly. “But…not this.”

He pushed the chair away from the table before standing up, walking around it to stand by her presence, then held his hand out towards her.

"May I have this dance?"

She looked up curiously, to see his hand in front of her albeit trembling slightly. She wanted to frown because that wasn’t like Thomas, but perhaps things changed for him inside too. She blinked at him, then she slowly smiled at him after evaluating his expectant expression. At least that part hadn’t changed.

She got up from the table, pink tainting her cheeks as she blushed deeply, gripping his fingers as she laid her hand onto his, and gave him a smile that outshined the ceiling light bulbs in the pub. It made his heart flutter, of course it didn’t do it without anguish either. He loved her and yet she was too far away for him to have her back where she belonged.

He led her to the middle of the room where they had room to dance. 

She curled her palm onto his left hand, her index and thumb are hairsbreadth away from each other just like their bodies as he wrapped his arm around her waist. Gripping his hand as she reached for his shoulder with her other hand.

He gazed down at her intensely as they began their first step, and she stared at his face, caressing the back of his shoulder with her hand, eyes flickering to his briefly before turning her head away slightly.

They were dancing like they had been when she was Lady Sarah of Connemara at the races. They were dancing like they had been in the quiet room in her old flat as they were hiding from the coppers. They were dancing like they had been the night they got married. 

Back then when their world wasn’t so fucked up the way it was now.

Everything had changed, and yet it felt like nothing had shifted along with time when she was in his arms.

He seemed to agree with her silent musings when he pulled her closer to his frame than she had thought possible. Her fingers gripped his shoulder slightly in response when he traced his fingers across her back.

He turned his head slowly, and she could see slight tendons in his neck as he swallowed. “We…we’ll figure it out. Okay, Y/N?” He murmured into her ear, his voice was low and comforting.

She nodded.

As they swayed to the soft notes of the song, she laid her chin on his shoulder to savor the feeling of his presence. Her eyes began to well up with tears that never fell.

As the song came to a slow end, their eyes met as she moved her head away from his shoulder. Ending the moment when she had to let go of his hand, taking a step back reluctantly as she continued to stare at his face. Neither were willing to break the connection as his gaze made her burn like it had been in the past.

So fucking close.

[justimajin]

Winter Splashes

Genre: Pure Fluff (with like a drop of angst)

↳ Writer Reader x Painter Taehyung AU

Words: 14k

Summary: Being a writer is a difficult job - you have daunting deadlines to meet, new characters to develop and constantly seek out bundles of inspiration. However, this profession also demands that you go with the flow, a simple phrase that morphs into a much bigger business issue when your book sales are on the verge of disappearing. It doesn't help that you're thrown a major curve-ball, one that leaves you asking a very ominous question:

✒ How are you supposed to write about romance?

The large brown table has a mountain of colours spewed on it, ranging from hard-covered to soft-covered, light laughs to deep wails, a short stack of words with sharp statements to a long flow of words that could have imaginations whisked away. The bound pages each have different illustrations depicted, their sheer volume only seeming to be endless when another array of them starts to form right below the table. Among all this, two words are engraved with a swirl into each of them and it’s a name that never fails to raise a hearty smile. 

“Y/N L/N.” 

The man on the other end repeats in the midst of your thoughts, your eyes trailing along with every book he takes out of the cardboard box. His brows are furrowed whenever he leans down, brown locks falling down onto his eyes and flush lips stretched out in wonder. He glances over at you with wide eyes from where you’re seated in the corner, the forecasted dreamy look you hold immediately vanishing into bewilderment. “There’s seriously a lot of them now.”

With a smile, you nod as he places the last batch underneath the table and turns to face you, “All of them did well in the market too.” He picks up a black book with dark purple and red swirls lining the cover, clouds of smoke in the background of a woman who holds a horrific expression, “Even after you created this,” Another book meets his hands, this time with hues of pink, blue and yellow splashed on the surface, a multitude of flowers scattered on the surface, “And then this.”

A chuckle escapes you, springing up from your seat with a cherry grin. 

“Well, you know what they say!” You point a cheesy finger at him, placing a powerful hand on your hip like you were some kind of superhero, “The biggest risks will always lead to the best results.” 

“Or the worst results.” He pursues his lips, “But you have managed to tackle a lot of genres in your writing, I’ll say that much.” 

You stroll closer, eyes dramatically wide and mouth agape, “Was that a….compliment?” 

He whips around, appearing offended. “Hey! I’ve given you plenty of compliments before.” 

“You said my last book was ridiculous and that I wasn’t allowed to turn the main character into a fish.” 

“Because that was ridiculous! Why would you even write something like that?!” 

“It’s unique! You know, the good ol’ being interesting enough to read more?” You smirk, leaning towards him with suspicious eyes, “Are you sure you’re an actual editor, Jin?” 

Seokjin rolls his eyes, placing the book in his hands down with a sigh, “I’m just saying that maybe you could try writing something simple this time around. Something without all the plot twists and weird revelations.” 

You narrow your eyes, not yet ready to budge until he glares at you in exasperation, “Hm, Fair enough. So what’s hot on the market?” 

You eagerly eye him, aware of his tendency to keep tabs on what the current status of the highest selling books were. 

“There’s been a demand for something else recently.” His voice grows wary and you raise an eyebrow, following after him as he brings over a sealed box you’ve haven’t seen before. He slices through the tape and begins taking out the paper packaging, revealing a new set of books that don’t carry your signature. 

“What is this?” You probe, picking one up that has an intricate image of a boy and a girl with glittering golden and silver eyes. “A werewolf story?” 

Jin hums, “There’s other ones too.” 

The books go flying from the box as you toss them out, taking one quick glance before allowing it to meet the pile you’re forming on the table. There’s covers depicting snow with a vampire, an image of a stethoscope, another of a basketball court, and heck, even one with the premise of two people switching bodies. You stare at Jin perplexed, not grasping onto how these random titles were going to be helpful to you. 

He leans back, resting himself on the perch of the table. He smiles like he knows something you don’t ‒ a gesture that has you nearly pestering him for an answer until he finally speaks. 

“How do you feel about romance?”

“The genre?” He nods, “I don’t know, I guess it’s nice? It’s cute and all, and that-” 

He continues to smile and there’s something about it that’s unintentionally connected to the dots for you. 

You’ve made up your mind already, “I can’t.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s romance!” You raise up your hands in exasperation, but Jin just stares at you, not understanding the big deal, “You know, people gushing and giggling over each other for an entire book. Who wants to read something like that??” 

“This is coming from someone that wrote about a guy turning into a fish.”

“It was unique!” You chime in again, but Jin simply sighs and slides over the books you had previously yanked out. 

“It’s not what the market wants though, Y/N. All of these books went on to become popular just for being in the genre.” He attempts to reason, placing his hands on your shoulders, “I still think you should give it a shot.” 

Your lips set into a firm line, gaze drifting over to the atrocious covers that Jin’s lined up on the table. 

You suppose it wouldn’t be so bad. After all, you’ve been through writing spurts, endlessly crafting out fantasy words in efforts of making it through the deadlines you’re faced with. You’ve faced the mixture of stress and adrenaline, desperately pushing yourself to keep going even if your tank of fuel is failing on you. You’ve spent the long hours of digging your nose into hours of research, familiarising yourself with something out of your comfort zone just for the sake of making your writing better. 

But...romance? 

A genre you’ve skimmed over in hopes of creating something else, a genre that you’ve barely given a second glance because…...well… 

You research things. You try to improve things. And the best way to improve, is totry…...

Even though you have no clue what you’re getting yourself into. 

“I don’t know…” You quietly mumble, fiddling with the bottom of your sweater. “What if it sucks?” 

“You’ll never know unless you try.” Jin offers, but it doesn’t take away the unsettling feeling in your stomach from just thinking about it. He simply stares as you grow silent, letting out a sigh. 

Reaching over to grab a familiar coat, he tosses it over your head. You immediately react, flabbergasted by the sudden flying article of clothing. 

“What was that for?!” 

“Come on.” He slides his arms through a brown one with a knowing smile, “You work based on inspiration,” He glances around the dusty office, nearly packed with opened cardboard boxes and books, “and I don’t think you’ll get much from here.” 

You grin, slipping on the rough material instantly. 

***

The streets are bustling, packed with crowds of people huddled together. They’re surrounded by cream coloured skyscrapers from a far distance, rows of bare oak trees lining the roads. The scent of fresh winter lingers in the air, newly arrived after the scattering of orange and red leaves on the ground. 

You fist your hands up, a cheer erupting from your throat. A hand suddenly pushes through, covering your mouth. 

“Why are you screaming?” Jin asks in exasperation, staring at you in disbelief when you still continue despite his attempts at halting you. 

You pry his hand off, “I haven’t been outside in so long!!” You instantly run off, bumping into some civilians with no care and then giving them a cheeky wink when they glare at you. Jin rushes forward, grabbing onto you again. 

He sighs, stuffing his icy hands into his coat pockets, “Y/N, you’re supposed to be a writer, not a hermit.” 

“You can’t have both, Jin.” You remind him, “Plus I’ve spent hours working on my deadlines so I’m in need for some fu-Ooh! Look!” 

He whirls around to see you dashing over a pile of leaves in the corner, diving headfirst into them before he can stop you. Giggles escape you as Jin can’t help but smile a bit at the display too. However, that’s when he remembers why he even offered to bring you out inside, leaning over to grasp onto your arm. 

“Alright, come on Miss. Tree Lover.” He helps you up, quirking an eyebrow at the leaves currently trapped and poking out of your hair. You instantly brush them out, following him around. 

“Well?” He says with hopeful eyes as you take in the busy area. 

“Well what?” 

“Really?” He ponders, leaning closer, “No crazy amounts of inspiration yet?” 

“That’s not how it works!” You chide, “It takes more than that, you know? I gotta have a type of feeling.” 

“A type of feeling?” 

You roll your eyes at his obvious sarcasm, “Yeah, like I see something and the urge to write just‒” 

Your eyes spark up at a particular store and before you know it, you’re yanking Jin to come along with you. 

“What is it??” 

“Look!” You point over to the shop burgeoning with hard bound books. Planting your hands against the window, the glass fogs with the warmth you radiate as you peer inside, seeing countless of titles you recognize. 

“Aren’t those…?” Jin whispers from behind you, a huge dreamy smile crossing your lips. 

“Yeah.” You glance at the familiar works in front of you, eyes carefully watching people that walk across the selves. A particular group huddled in the corner catches your attention right away, one of them flicking through pages you’ve probably dispensed part of your soul into. 

She pauses at one page, eyes starting to focus in and appearing intrigued. Her lips have thinned out, lost in thought even with the group near her talking amongst themselves. 

You know that look. 

The excitement in your eyes instantly shifts into tenderness, simply content with watching someone hold curiosity in them from your words. 

But the perfect mirage cracks. 

“Hey guys, check this one out!” 

The girl immediately spins around, shuffling over to view the alluring title her friend has pulled out. However, in the midst of this, the familiar hard bound pages are instantly discarded, plopped back onto the shelf without another single glance. 

Your smile falls, eyes tingeing with dismay. You can only watch from afar as she swipes through new material, her attention grasped unlike before. 

Sight lingering down, you recognize the type of literature she holds. It only contributes more to your sorrow, left hopelessly gazing at the genre you’ve strayed extremely far from. 

Jin is silent from behind you, noticing that your immediate cheerfulness has disappeared within seconds. He’s still silent when you turn to him in disappointment, muttering the words he’s been trying to drill in your head since this morning. 

“I think….I’ll give it a shot.” 

He hums, gesturing for you to leave. “Just try your best, and don’t force yourself.” 

You nod, following after him once you’ve managed to tear your vision away from the scene. Although you’ve come down to the resolve he’s wanted, it doesn’t help at all to take away the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

***

You already have a concept in your hands. Now all you gotta do is write it. 

How hard can it be? 

Within the span of ten minutes, soft thugs begin to resonate through the room. You lull you head over and over again against the surface of your table, deep exhausted sighs leaving your body. 

Did you really say how hard can it be? Did the you of ten minutes ago actually think this was easy?!

Sinking back into your chair, you stare at the blank document with empty eyes. It hasn’t moved an inch in that time frame and neither have you. 

Romance ‒ that’s it. Just write a story about two people falling for each other and seal the deal with a pretty looking bow. 

But then why are you still stuck staring at the screen?

A groan of defeat leaves your lips and you slump against your desk. A brown-haired individual pokes by your door, raising an eyebrow. 

“All good?” Jin asks. You barely move your head, an indecipherable murmur releasing from your throat. 

“I see…” He hums at the answer, straightening up and leaning against the frame, “If you’re that stuck, why don’t you do some research about it? You usually like that, right?” 

At the sound of the suggestion, your head immediately whips back with a hopeful glint in your eyes. Jin conceals his laughter as you start rapidly typing on your keyboard, taking that as an indication to leave you be as he goes back to editing your recent stories. 

Meanwhile, you’re having the time of your life. 

Of course! Research! The saving grace in a writer’s world! 

You’ve done it countless times before. Whether it was about being knowledgeable in understanding the mechanics of worldbuilding, to figure out the basic meanings of things you’ve previously had no clue about. 

However, the aspect you’re not accustomed to is your screen filling up with random articles. 

“How to tell if you’ve met your lifetime soulmate?” You narrow your eyes, “Ten ways of getting your crush to like you back…?” 

You scroll through, coming across more strange suggestions that give you zero insight for your current situation. Frowning, you wonder if you’re not searching hard enough ‒ until your eyes are left staring at the small advertisement in the corner of the screen. 

“Check out the latest kdrama’s here….?” Hovering your mouse over the link, a broad spectrum of shows flood your eyes instantly. There’s a range of story types and titles, but what catches your interest the most is the tagline. 

In need for some romance? Heal the woes of your lonely heart here then!

You lean back, staring at the shows. You suppose it won’t hurt to check one of them out, after all, it could give you the details you’ve been searching for. 

Making up your mind, you commit the mistake of watching the first episode of a series. 

***

Jin rubs his sore eyes, letting out a low yawn. He’s been unpacking more and more boxes from the publisher, carefully organizing them based on genre for the past couple of hours. After that horrendous task, he has decided to go through the latest story you’ve handed over to him, vision glued to his monitor as he highlights and circles places of improvement. 

He doesn’t want to take the harsh approach, but it goes without saying that your writing has been a little lacking these days. Usually he lets you do your thing and he does his own as long as you meet the deadlines, but he wonders if you’ve sacrificed the caliber in your writing in exchange. 

It isn’t terrible as you would probably take it. It still follows the unique concept trend you’ve focused on for so long. However, there seems to be something missing, something he can’t quite pinpoint even after going through pages and pages. 

With a sigh, he squeezes his heavy eyes shut for a moment before narrowing in onto the screen again. But his thought process is snatched away with a loud thud, and he instantly raises his head, wondering if a book has perhaps fallen down. 

Surprisingly, nothing’s fallen. 

Glancing around, he can only ponder until a boisterous laugh echoes through the walls, closely followed with prolonged wails. He slowly rises from his seat, following the intense sound as the frequency increases. 

He comes to a pause in front of your door, knocking softly. “Y/N?” 

Instead of words, he greeted to a chain of sobs. Twisting the knob to your office, he pokes his head in. 

“Y/N? Are you ok‒” 

To his defence, your office looks exactly how he has initially left it. But now it’s completely dark save for the subdued corner in the room, where you lie wrapped around with a blanket. Your eyes are glued to the bright source of light in the room, namely your computer screen, and there’s a bag of popcorn alongside a box of tissues right next to you. Aside from the strange position, your cheeks are completely drenched and there’s a hysterical look to your eyes. 

He doesn’t know what to say. 

“Uh….” 

The sound of his voice catches your attention, eyes widening, “Jin! Oh my god, Jin, it's so sad!” 

“What’s sad?” 

“This kdrama!” You point to your screen, “It’s so sad! First they were friends, and then they started liking each other, but then they kissed and everything went downhill after this second guy came in!” 

Jin crouches down, barely able to make out what's on screen due to the excessive water sticking to it.

“You’re watching a drama?” 

You hurriedly nod, “Now the girl is starting to fall for the second guy because of a misunderstanding! How are they going to fix all this?!” 

“Y/N…” Jin says in exasperation, “Is this what you’ve been doing for the past couple of hours?” 

You pout, hiding the device that clearly displays episode seven. 

“N-No........” 

Jin pretends not to see it, “Y/N, your next deadline is within two weeks. You really need to start working on this.” 

He grabs hold of your arm, pulling you out of the kdrama cocoon you’ve built around yourself. You let out a deep sigh, pressing your hand against your temples. 

“You’re right...I need to stop wasting time…” You whisper and Jin hums, swiveling around. 

“I have to get back to editing but I’ll come back in an hour once I’m done.” You nod as he turns to leave, slumping back down on your desk with a tired exhale. 

He was right. The moment you clicked onto that link, the hours spun by faster than you could count them and you’ve got nothing done at this point. 

Prying open your laptop again, you resume back to the blank document. 

***

Jin has assumed his words have knocked some sense into you as he makes his way back to your office. 

What he doesn’t assume, is to see you sitting on the ledge of the broad window with a book in your hands. 

“You’re reading…?” He wonders. Normally he wouldn’t even question it, but his eyes drift over to the blank document once again and something tells him there’s more to the story than he initially thought. 

You look up surprised, as if you hadn’t expected his arrival. His eyes stray over to the title of the book in your hands, a groan leaving him. 

“Oh god, not this again Y/N!” 

“It’s to help me understand!” You try to reason, but Jin is short of a few words when you’re reading a bulky thick book called ‘The Philosophy Behind Romance’. 

“How is this supposed to help you?” He points to the book and you defensively curl your arms around it. 

“Hear me out for a minute!” You quickly place it in your hands and rapidly flip through the pages. “Romantic love is considered to be a relation higher than the metaphysical and stems from a desire that transcends the physical body.”

Jin frowns, “What does that even mean?” 

“I have no idea. But!” You hastily intervene as Jin looks like he’s about to protest, “I think it can help me with creating the story.” 

“I don’t think any of this is going to work.” 

“What?” He walks over, taking the book out of your hands and straight up discarding it into your trash can. “HEY!” 

“You’re starting to run out of fuel.” He states, noticing the way your expression sours. You know he’s right, but won’t admit it. “You need to get away from all this.” 

He gestures to the book and the blank document you still have pulled up, reminding you of the ill circumstance you had yet to do something about. 

A dreary sigh leaves your lips, brows knitted together, “I’m trying Jin, I really am.” You gesture to the same empty document, “It’s just so hard. I-....I don’t know what to do.” 

Jin places a hand on your shoulder, nodding, “You’re out of your comfort zone and you’re having writer’s block. It’s understandable, but I don’t think research is what's going to help you this time.”

 You pout at that, but then Jin swivels around and hands your coat to you. 

“Why don’t you try going out for a walk? Clear out your mind and come back with some fresh inspiration?” 

“That doesn’t sound too bad…” You reminisce. Tugging your arms through the sleeves, Jin smiles and opens the door for you, ushering you towards the stairs that descend down. You wave at him before disappearing, hoping to yourself that you can get something out of this to clear away the clouds brewing over your creative mind. 

***

Glittering stars fill up the night sky, a bright crescent moon twinkling and illuminating the empty roads. Save for the sound of awake crickets and the faint honking of cars nearby, the sidewalk you trudge on is completely silent. 

It offers a different scenery compared to your cramped office room, something you didn’t realize you would appreciate as much until it dawns on you that you’ve probably spent several hours in the midst of trying to figure out your story instead of actually writing it. After all, you have been posed with a solid issue and as time spins by, you begin to think that it’s more than doing some mere research could possibly resolve. 

Tugging the hem of your coat closer to your red nose, your eyes glance around. You attempt to take some of Jin’s advice to heart, pondering if anything nearby can perhaps spark a flame of inspiration that you’ve been desperately lacking. 

That’s when you see it. 

Your brows furrow and you have to blink your eyes twice for it to make sense. Sheer curiosity traps you as you saunter over, tilting your head to the side and then to the opposite direction until you blink once more. 

Strokes of black and blue envelope the delicate white background that peeks through, specks of gray and white blotted carefully where the lines meet. There’s a peculiar circular shape portrayed in the middle of it, messily splattered with a hue of dull yellow. It looks like something you’ve come across before, something that felt familiar, something that‒

Your eyes look up, the same image appearing right above you. 

A frown mars your lips and when your vision focuses back on the piece, a head full of blonde hair sticks out from behind it. 

You’re almost ready to unleash a scream, not quite expecting movement from the presumed stationary canvas. You hear a soft sound, seemingly sounding like a low mumble, before silence takes over again. Raising an eyebrow, you take a step forward. 

It occurs to you that the canvas you had noticed was actually perched up against a wooden bench, and on that bench, is a person that’s sleeping. 

You hesitantly peer at them, noticing that the stranger was in fact a man. He appears to be in the middle of a snooze fest, chest lightly rising in the midst of soft snores escaping him. His face is entirely covered with a black beret, strands of blonde hair peeking out. 

There’s a list of questions in your mind, starting from why he was randomly lying down on the bench in the middle of the night to the painting that’s positioned next to his head. While the absurd scenarios explaining his situation run through your mind, his arm moves and you experience your second heart attack for the day. 

The beret falls down onto his lap as he stretches his arms, a deep yawn passes by his lips. You remain frozen as he does so, having moved a couple inches away once it dawned on you how odd it would probably be if he found out you were staring. 

He sleepily blinks his eyes, narrowing them at you. You’re about to explain yourself, but he instead asks you a question. 

“What time is it?” 

“Uh…” You scramble around for your phone, the screen lighting up, “11:34pm.” 

He hums, getting up and dusting off his jeans. Grabbing the fallen beret, he pushes the strands of his blonde hair back into the hat, revealing strong eyebrows underneath. He pulls out an old camera, hanging it around his neck and letting it drop down onto the brown coat he wears. 

His feline-like eyes glance at you in wonder, drastically different from his sleeping appearance on the bench. You let out an awkward cough, a light hue of pink spreading over your skin.

After a moment of silence, he speaks up. 

“Do you like my painting?” You raise your brows and blink. 

“Your painting?” He nods, a soft proud smile looping on his lips. You peer at the artwork in curiosity again. “You made this?” 

He hums, observing it with you, “I waited for hours to paint it.”

He points to the sky and the image finally begins to piece together for you. The black and blue embodying the sky, the shimmering stars scattered all over and the radiant moon, painted so brightly in the centre of all of it. 

“You waited out here to paint the sky?” 

A drawn out sigh escapes him, “Yep. I’m kind of stuck in a rut, you see.” He gestures to the painting again with a somber look in his eyes, “I wanted to paint something different, but I didn’t have any ideas, so I came out here instead to get the experience.” 

“Experience?” 

He hums, “It’s a lot easier to experience the moment than having to imagine it in your head.” 

“R-Right…” You whisper, still staring at his painting like you were stuck in the middle of a daze. You’re alarmed when he suddenly bends down and picks up the canvas with one arm, pivoting around to face you. 

“I have to get going now. Spent too much time painting that I didn’t get enough sleep.” He warmly smiles at you, outstretching his hand, “It was nice meeting you.” 

You take it confused and he gives you a small nod before leaving. You watch his back disappear, gaze averting to the large canvas tucked underneath his arm. 

Spinning around to head back, you dwell on his words more than you would like. 

Maybe this whole time your writer’s block was stemming from something else, something you truly didn’t realize was important until now. 

Experience. 

But how do you experience something that’s supposed to be completely natural? Something you’re utterly clueless about? 

Letting out an exhale, it seems like there’s only one person who can give you clear answers. 

***

You start off the next morning at a place you would never consider yourself to express interest in. 

The art museum. 

You recall hearing whispers and murmurs of a new art showcase going on, your curiosity only seeming to drag you there. The sudden spike in motivation causes Jin to question about your early departure, to which you retort that you’re drawing closer to grasping a solid idea for your story. 

Heading in, the gallery is completely adorned in pieces of art. There’s various types ‒ paintings, sculptures, graphic design ‒ you name it. You don’t realize you’re standing in awe until a couple behind you urges you to keep moving, an action that strains a sheepish smile across your lips as you hurriedly scurry away. 

You constantly glance around, observing each work you come across. One painting captures your attention, hues of pastel pink and mint green mixed together on the overlay of a figure carrying a smaller figure in their hands. Your lips set into a firm line as you draw closer, eyes tracing the outline. 

“You won’t understand it better if you keep staring at it like that.” 

You whirl around at the sound of the voice, not quite expecting to run right into the person you were searching for. The man smirks, wearing the same brown coat you saw him in last time. 

“How would you interpret it then?” 

He takes a step closer, narrowing his eyes in a way you did and you scoff at his mimicry. 

“I think it’s a painting of a mother and a child. She’s embracing her child and rocking them to sleep.” He points to the outline, “The colors are supposed to represent a sense of joy and relief with having her child in her arms.” 

You blink, managing to piece together everything he said perfectly. The figures do appear like a mother and child, and the colors only emphasize the warmth the outline portrays.

“Woah.” You whisper, probably having not realized all that unless someone told you, “How did you figure that out?” 

He smiles, “I’m the one who painted it.” 

“Oh.” A chuckle escapes him at your embarrassment and you sheepishly smile. Your eyes are drawn to the painting again, but this time you narrow down on the faint signature at the bottom. 

“V?” You raise an eyebrow, “Is that your name?” 

He softly shakes his head, “That’s just what I use for my art. My actual name is Kim Taehyung.” 

You hum and he leans forward, eyes curious. 

You automatically shift away, averting your eyes from his strong gaze. “What?”

“This is the part where you introduce yourself.” 

“Oh, right.” You outstretch your hand, “Y/N L/N.” 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” He shakes your hand and swivels around, tilting his head as a means for you to follow him, “Come on, I’ll show you around.” 

You nod, hurriedly rushing behind him as he points out several pieces and their artists. You take occasional glances around at other pieces of artwork as well, one with a solemn blue background depicting a mountain catching your eyes instantly. 

“That’s really pretty.” You point out, and Taehyung endearingly laughs, glancing at you peculiarly. 

“I wonder if I should be flattered that you seem to like all my work.” 

“Y-You painted that one too?” 

“Yep, this gallery is pretty new so a lot of my work is in here.” He slightly turns his head, enough to see you behind him, “What about you? Got a real keen eye for art?” 

“Not really…” You truthfully admit, “I just happened to be walking by and thought I check it out.” 

He raises an eyebrow, “Are you sure about that?” 

“What do you mean?” 

He suddenly pauses, causing you to stop on your heels before you plummet right into him, “Are you sure you’re not stalking me since yesterday?” 

Your eyes enlarge, “What?! No, of course not! I just came in here because I heard about the recent showcase and thought...uh...” A deep sigh leaves you from your horrible inability to lie properly, “Thought I might run into you…” 

Taehyung pursues his lips, “Now that’s something I’m not sure if I should be creeped out or flattered by.” 

“Please don’t be creeped out!” You raise up your hands in defence, opting to tell him the truth, “I’m just stuck in the middle of writing a book and then I saw you yesterday…you were talking about how experiencing something helps you with your art…” 

His voice spikes up in awe, “You’re a writer?” 

You nod, “Ah, so different cameras but similar lenses…” 

“Huh?” 

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” He fully turns to face you, a huge grin on his lips, “I don’t know if I’ll be of much use, but I can help you out if you’d like.” 

“Really?” Your eyes spark up, “Thank you so much, I-I can’t believe you would want to help me out…” 

“You’ve seen me being stuck in a rut.” He smiles, “I know the feeling.” 

You warmly return his smile, tempted to ask him more about his experiences in painting when a woman with a clipboard suddenly approaches the two of you. 

She intervenes, “Mr. Kim, the gallery would like to confirm your next showcase.” 

His eyes widen, “Ah, yes-” You watch as he shoves his hand into his coat pocket, hurriedly fishing around. 

He yanks out a small card, handing it to you, “It has all my contact information on it, shoot me a message whenever you have the chance.” 

You quickly take the card before he’s dragged away, sending him a nod in response. He grins, waving you farewell before turning and weaving through the crowds of people viewing the showcase. 

Gyrating around, you think it’s best you head back as well, knowing that Jin will be suspicious of the length of your disappearance. As you exit the museum, you glance down, reading the contents of the card. 

The background is an array of colours ‒ ranging from blues, greens, reds and even yellows that are splattered in a way that seems to form a tornado. His art name and phone number are in the corner, eerily reminiscent of the way he paints his pieces ‒ drawing you in with the outlays and colours before declaring himself. 

The corner of your mouth quirks up. 

***

You set out the next morning, the sun beginning to shine brighter as you head closer to your destination. 

You find him by the river, an old camera hanging from his neck ‒ just like the first time you had found him by the bench. 

A grin makes its way to his lips, his hand waving for you when you begin to draw closer. 

“Have difficulty finding it?” He gestures to the river behind you. 

You shake your head, keeping a pondering finger to your lips, “Not really, I’ve been here before. I usually go over there to see the book shops.”

You point over to the area you had last visited with Jin, reminiscing about finding your own books there. 

Taehyung raises an eyebrow, “You’re a fan of reading other’s books?” 

“Of course!” You nervously chuckle, “It’s always great to see what other writers do with their books as well!” 

Taehyung stares at you for a moment, his gaze unwavering. 

“You went to go see your own books?” 

You sigh, squeezing your eyes, “I went to go see my own books.” 

Taehyung lets out a low chuckle and you look down, biting your bottom lip. 

“I’ll admit, it is a little odd‒” 

“Not at all.” He shakes his head, “You found me at my own showcase, didn’t you?” 

You blink, “Right…” 

He shrugs, “It’s a thing for everyone who creates. You want to see how the public reacts to your art.” 

You hum, a tad bit surprised by his straightforwardness. It’s an aspect that no creator would take into consideration first hand, but it’s an integral part of being one. 

The public always warrants how art is received, after all. 

Taehyung lifts his camera, adjusting his lenses before snapping a picture of the bookstore. You watch in confusion as he examines the picture. 

“I’m surprised you like taking photos.” You innocently inquire, “Does it help you paint?” 

Taehyung glances at you. 

“You know the feeling of trying to stop time?” 

Your brows knit together and he softly smiles, “When you take a picture, you capture a moment and stop time for a second. It isn't long, but it’s enough for a photograph.” 

You watch as he slips his hand into his coat pocket, showcasing a small array of photographs. Images of the sun setting with mixes of bold orange and solemn blue are shown to you, another with a stream of ducks making ripples within the water. There’s ones of buildings and people too, but all of them are taken in angles that are captivating shots of laughter and shots of despair that could have easily been missed if the photograph had a lapse of time. 

It almost reminds you of when you’re attempting to capture a particular scene in your mind as your fingertips glide on your keyboard, drawing in an atmosphere that has the reader’s senses all working. 

The corner of Taehyung’s mouth curls, observing the gears in your head turning. 

It only takes you a handful of seconds to notice, a bashful smile lining your lips. 

“Writing is like that too, not exactly similar⎯” You retract immediately, “But trying to draw in the five senses around you and bringing it out into literature…” 

You glance up at Taehyung, curious to see if you were making any sense at this point. He’s no longer facing you at this point. Instead his body is facing the river, eyes fluttering shut. 

There’s a spark in your own, and you hurriedly continue. 

“Like this river isn’t just the scene,” You point out, “it’s the sun shining down and reflecting on the surface near the moss. It’s the birds crossing alongside the path and the voices of people nearby echoing. It’s the faint breeze in the air and the smell of greenery.”

“It’s peaceful,” Taehyung hums in content, “and calming.” 

A soft smile crosses your features, “That’s what writing is like for me, taking inspiration from the real world and capturing it all into words.” 

His eyes open and you notice the knowing gaze he holds, as if everything that you’ve tried to explain is second nature to him. 

“So what has you stuck?” He inquires. 

A deep sigh escapes you, the acknowledgement occurring that he was actually here to help with your current predicament. 

“A new genre.” You admit with a grimace, “I’ve written plenty of different ones before, but there were always ones I understood well and I had no problem with creating stories from them.”

You continue, “And even if it was hard, I’ve always been able to figure it out somehow, you know? If I didn’t know about something, I would research it. If I was confused, I look it up-” 

You decide to stop yourself, knowing that those outlets hadn’t been much help at this point. “I’m just…really out of my element, and the worst part is that it’s exactly what the market wants right now.” 

You cross your arms, a small pout landing on your lips. It’s not like that you haven’t been vocal about your frustrations, but more so that you’re just slumped, unable to conjure anything up onto that document with the slightest clue of where to even begin.

Taehyung ‒ who had been quietly observing you the entire time ‒ puts his camera down and places his finger on his chin. 

“Sometimes when I struggle to paint something new, I procrastinate.” You arch up a brow, “Like bad procrastinate. My canvas starts to collect dust.” 

A chuckle escapes you and he smiles, “But then I try to think why I’m procrastinating. Do I just not feel like painting? Or is it because of something else…?” 

He stares at you intently, like he’s waiting for you to finish his sentence. 

You ponder, “I guess…I’m scared in a way? Of not knowing what I’m doing.” 

He hums, “When that happens, I like taking out my camera. Going around and taking pictures not only gives me experience, but also lets me experience my surroundings better.” He glances around until his eyes land on you, “Sometimes I can find inspiration. Sometimes I can find interesting individuals.” 

Your eyes round and he turns, angling himself back a bit and taking a snapshot of the river. You peer over his shoulder and he moves closer to you so you can view the picture better. 

It’s pretty ‒ he was able to get the forecast of the sun over the bank of the river perfectly, alongside the little daisies growing alongside the shore. 

“Nice?” He wonders and you nod, face brightening, “Good. Now just don’t ask me to paint it, that’ll be scary for me.” 

You laugh and he turns to walk down the bank of the river with a smile. 

***

The next time you get an opportunity to meet Taehyung, there’s a whirlwind in the sky. 

It’s been a couple of weeks since your first encounter with him at the art gallery, but regrets are thrown all over the place the moment the wind blasts through your hair. The chills run down your spine, pickling at your skin as you squeeze your eyes shut. 

Jin tells you not to go, or at most, to re-schedule. But a part of you is incredibly stubborn, frustration running through you when you know you’ll just end up in the same place ‒ staring at that blank document for endless hours. 

As you hug your body as much as you can, you strut down the bustling street and glance back and forth. 

Taehyung thankfully appears within a couple of seconds, his silhouette emerging from across the street. 

Your eyes round. 

He wears the same brown coat he always wears, but this time there’s no beret on his head. Instead his blonde locks are pushed back by the wind, his strong brows furrowed and eyes closed as he tries to navigate himself against the vicious breeze. 

You’re not sure if it's the cold nipping at your cheeks or the shiver running through you, but the way your cheeks burn is enough to notice. 

He glances up, eyes locking with yours. A wide smile stretches up on his lips that nearly makes you falter. 

“Y/N.” 

His deep voice calls your name, concern crossing his features. 

“Have you been waiting long?” 

You shake your head, “I-I just got here.” 

“That’s good.” He hums, glancing around. “Not exactly my ideal weather, if I do say.” 

You laugh, “I’m surprised my ears haven’t managed to fall off yet.” 

The corner of his mouth lifts and before you know it, he’s extending his arm forward. You glance at him surprised, but he nudges you and then gestures in the opposite direction. 

“Come on.” 

You slip your hand in, linking your arms together. Taehyung begins to walk forward, navigating you around the busy marketplace. Surveying around, there’s various stores lined up across the edge of the street, vendors alike having many displays for you to view. 

There wasn’t anything in particular for you to buy, but Taehyung had suggested that it would be good for you to come out with him and explore the new area. It makes you wonder if he wanted you to get more experience going out since after all, you spent more of your time writing and being bit of a hermit. 

You peer over at him, noticing his eyes occasionally flickering and observing all the stalls he went past. It was one thing you had learned about Taehyung quickly, that it didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing, he always had this way of taking in his surroundings carefully, like he was studying every aspect. 

That’s when you hear a soft gasp escape him, his hand finding yours as he rushes forward. His feet then come to an abrupt halt and you nearly trip between your own two feet. 

Regaining your balance, you peer over his shoulder and notice his eyes are sparkling. Before you have a chance to question any of it, your hand is being tugged again, the bell to the store’s door ringing above you. 

Your most straightforward assumption at this point was that the store must have had something to do with painting, but you’re pleasantly surprised to find yourself surrounded with pieces of clay, all decorated with bold and bright colours on various shelves. 

Ceramic Art. 

You distinctly recall reading about it in a book once, but had never gotten the opportunity to see it up front and close. 

A piece captures your eyes immediately, your brows drawing together. 

“That’s a unique one.” Taehyung remarks, stepping to stand beside you. 

Quirking an eyebrow, the question lingers in your mind. 

“I didn’t know you did ceramic art as well.” 

Taehyung chuckles, “I actually don’t.” He puts his hands within the pockets of his coat, “It isn’t my area of expertise, but I like seeing different forms of art. Ironically, I find the way of expressing it to be the exact same.” 

You blink as Taehyung steps away, taking strides towards other surrounding pieces of art and inspecting them. You’re left staring as he gazes at a pot that’s been shaped similar to a moon, swirls of dark blue and yellow specks decorating the smooth ceramic. 

You can’t help the smile that stretches across your lips. 

“It looks just like something you would have painted.” 

Taehyung frowns, before the corners of his mouth quirk up. “I didn’t even notice, I just thought it looked beautiful.” 

“You definitely have a good eye for art.” 

“It would appear so.” He lightly laughs, turning around to view more of the art. 

A part of you curiously lingers, walking up to him. 

You peer over, “Does this mean you see my writing as art too?” 

“Of course.” His head snaps back, “Art’s all about expression, doesn’t matter what medium you choose.” 

Your face lights up.

“However,” He brings up and your eyes widen, “Every artist is never the same. People always have different stories to tell and that’s completely okay. That’s what makes them all unique.” 

A glimmer enters your eyes. After the endless frustrations with your recent book, his words do send you a sense of reassurance. It can sometimes be difficult to have someone else understand why you do things the way you do ‒ even you and Jin have had your fair share of arguments over various disagreements ‒ but it all pinpointed to seeing everything in a different perspective. 

You grin, “I can understand that.” 

His eyes soften, “I think it also means that some genres can be harder than others, but everyone can bring their unique take on them.” 

Brows lifting, your gaze fixates on him. But he spins around, gesturing for you to come over and to observe more art with him. 

You walk over with no hesitation. 

***

The following time you find Taehyung, fall is still letting her leaves shed and he invites you over to his studio.

A part of you is beaming with excitement ‒ having only ever seen his artistic ways when he was attempting to paint the stars and you had coincidentally stumbled across him that night. But a part of you can’t shake away the jitters, jitters that you don’t want to spend time trying to understand, deciding to just push it all away as you set out for the day.

The wind is gustful, snipping at your nose and cheeks. Hues of warm orange and bright yellow litter the ground and top the trees, the sun hiding behind grey clouds that ever so let droplets of water release. 

It’s scenery that grasps you within its clutches, glimmering your eyes with awe and leaving your mouth agape. 

And it’s the same scenery that he seeks to capture. 

You have the simple pleasure of watching as he draws lines of jade for the trees and splatters on specks of orange and yellow. He scrambles to paint the few individuals that walk past his vision, capturing their essence into carefully placed frames. 

His art style lingers between mimicking the surroundings but somehow elevating it as well, drawing in the observer with his interesting use of colour and texture. 

You can only seem to watch, lost in it as well. 

Time flies from you as he adds the final touches to his piece and you finally notice the way his hands are completely stained, some paint having even made its way to his nose. His brushes have seen the light of day, piled next to him in a canister. 

And in the midst of it, he looks upon his painting and grins. He turns to you for the first time since you’ve arrived, breaking the complete silence as he laughs with his deep tone. 

“Well, that was a lot of fun.” 

You can’t help but burst into laughter as well, completely astounded by the difference in his demeanour. Astounded how easily you saw both a painter in his element and a man in his twenties observing his surroundings within the same split second. 

You end up helping him clean each of his used brushes, watching him walk down the street with you as paint still remains on his face and hands. 

***

“Someone seems to be doing well for themselves.” 

The retort breaks you out of your thoughts, your eyes snapping up. 

“Huh?” There’s a book encased within your hands, one of the few titles you had referenced in writing your mystery story. 

Jin laughs under his breath. He hasn’t been able to see much of you for a while, only just knowing that you had met a painter by the name of Taehyung and he was all you would talk about these days. 

He tucks away a book in his own hands, “You were smiling so much that I assumed everything has been working out. Has Taehyung’s advice been that helpful?” 

Your eyes twinkle, spinning around on your heels. 

“It has been! He’s so much fun to talk to, and he’s got great insight, Jin.” Your smile widens, “Who knew seeing eye to eye with a painter would be so easy?” 

Jin grins, “It’s definitely got you in high spirits, I can tell you that.” 

“I need to introduce you to him, Jin. I think you’ll get along great!” You chirp, reaching down to open another box. 

“Woah, woah,” Jin draws closer, halting you, “I’ll take care of that, you’ve got some writing to do, remember?” 

A giant pout arises on your lips, “But I said I was going to help you.”

“And you will, by writing for your new book.” He points out, “Spending time with Taehyung should have sparked something, no?” 

You hum defeatedly, knowing he had a point. You had spent so much of your time with him, it was only hopeful that his words would have incited some creativity to strike you. 

Letting out a big sigh, you drag yourself back to your desk and open up your computer, the blank document is showcased once again to your eyes. 

***

You want to pound your head against the table. 

The good news is that your document is no longer left blank. There’s rough jot notes littered on it, some random junctions from the brainstorming you were doing on ideas for the story. You’re trying to indulge your unique perspective onto the story, concepts for certain scenes stemming from a cool night out in the stars, a riverside and a busy marketplace. 

But it isn’t enough. 

The bad news is that you, out of all people, know that ideas are just a base. You need to build up a coherent story from it, create characters, create dynamics. And you have none of those at this moment. 

It’s like all the surface level information is just complete, not the heart of your story. 

You contemplate on how to begin, eyes sweeping over the jot notes listed on your document countless times. You start pulling at anything in your mind, anything that could be linked to writing romance. 

A deep exhale leaves your lips, shoulders slumping down. Your hand reaches out for your mouse, closing the document tab before going to the search bar, the urge to delve in and research the topic tempting you. 

You know you had tried to take a different approach with this, tried not to linger too much on the various articles, but despite the unique types of experiences you’ve had in the last couple of weeks, there still isn’t an answer to the question in your mind. 

How do people even start to fall in love?

You’re in the midst of searching the question, eyes already filtering through various articles ‒ when suddenly there's a flicker in your dim eyes. 

Halting your racing fingertips against the keyboard, the mouse in your hands is abandoned. 

You shoot up from your desk, yanking the door wide open and running outside. 

***

Jin hums a soft tone in the serene silence, opening up a box to unload the books onto the table. He’s been set on organising the newer ones that had just come in, attempting to distract himself before he checks in on you and your progress with your writing. 

The door comes bursting open. 

The book slips through his fingers and a blood-curdling scream escapes his throat. He spins around, brows furrowed together. 

You stand in a starfish stance at the door, eyes wild and breathing heavy. 

“What happened?!” Jin questions, holding a frantic hand against his racing heart. 

“You‒” You raise a shaking finger at him, still gasping for air. Jin wonders why you even decided to run so fast when he’s literally a couple of doors away. “You have a girlfriend.” 

He blinks, sheer unamusement crossing his features, “Seriously? That shouldn’t be news to you!” 

“I know!” You raise your hands in defence, “But I have some questions I want to ask you.” 

He cranes his head to the side, “You’re going to interview me?” 

“Kind of.” Jin doesn’t have time to react when you’re already reaching out for a chair, dragging it closer to him. 

He sits down opposite to you with a groan, “At least tell me this is for the book.” 

“Hold on.” You settle down, scrutinising him, “Do you love your girlfriend?” 

A scoff escapes him, “Of course I do!” 

“Good, now how did you fall in love?” 

Jin blinks, surprised by the genuine question. You seem interested as well, eyeing him intently. 

“We met back in college.” He softly smiles, his complexion tinting pink, “She was close to someone in my friend circle and I thought she was really cute.” 

“Was it love at first sight?” 

“Sort of.” Jin tilts his head, “She was kind, but I wanted to get to know her before anything so we became friends first.” He explains, “Eventually, I realised I liked her a lot and asked her out.” 

You hum and Jin doesn’t even realize you’re writing something down, pen in hand as you scribble onto a piece of paper. 

“I can’t believe you wanted to hear about my experience.” He remarks. 

“Well, I don’t really understand the romance genre in general.” You mumble, still writing. “And Taehyung said that sometimes experiencing things can help with his art, so I thought talking to someone who has experience would help me.” 

Jin quirks a brow, a scrutinising look brewing in his eyes. It catches you off guard when you finally look up, taken aback by him surveying you. 

“What?”

He narrows his eyes, “What’s the deal with Taehyung?” 

You stare at him wide-eyed. “Deal? What deal?” 

“You know what I mean.” Leaning back in his chair, he crosses his arms. The suspicious look in his eyes doesn’t disappear. “Ever since you met him, there's been a lot of ‘Taehyung this’ and ‘Taehyung that’.” 

You sigh, his words drawing out a conclusion from you. 

“He’s not being distracting, Jin.” You firmly state, much to his surprise. It was always a rare occasion for you to be completely serious. “I’ve learned a lot from him, and he’s truly really fascinating and inspiring to be around.” 

A soft smile spreads on your features, recalling all the fond times Taehyung was either teaching you about the way he viewed the world or the places he would take you to explore. 

You’re so caught up in your own thoughts that you don’t realize that Jin is still staring at you, the suspicion only increasing further in his eyes. 

Jin doesn’t beat around the bush this time. 

“Do you like Taehyung?” 

You nearly choke, reality bringing you back as the air leaves your lungs in an instant. Glancing up at Jin mortified, you wonder how he drew up that conclusion. 

“W-What?! No!” A hue of pink scatters onto your cheeks and Jin quirks his head to the side, like he’s not impressed. 

“Really?” He wonders out loud, “Since that museum trip of yours, your head seems to be up in the clouds and as someone knowledgeable in the romance department,” He flutters his fingers like he’s throwing sparkles at you, “I’m starting to think otherwise.” 

“That’s crazy!” You retorted in defence, “I can’t like Taehyung!” 

“You can’t?” He says playfully, “That’s far from don’t.” 

You hurriedly get up, collecting the notes you’ve written. “I-I need to get back to writing.” 

The corners of Jin’s lips lift, since this is the first time he hasn’t had to ask you himself to work on your book.

***

He’s just assuming.

You think, hurriedly slipping into your chair. Tapping on your computer, you wait for the pitch black screen to light up. 

There was no possible way. Taehyung was simply just helping you with your writer’s slump. 

Blinking your eyes a couple of times, you attempt to shake away the lingering thoughts and bring yourself back into focus for this novel. 

Only for your eyes to land right on your lit screen, the search you had begun popping in front of your face. 

The curiosity is drawn out from you, and before you know it, you begin to scroll. 

Majority of them fall within the same bracket of the research you were attempting to do in the beginning process of this book, with links advertising love advice and even counselling. A new link to a kdrama even pops up, something you have to will yourself to ignore. 

Until one article crosses your eyes, one that has you more curious than ever. 

Having difficulty in finding out if you’ve fallen in love? Find out here!

You frown, hovering over it for a split second. But then you shake your head, reciting to yourself that it was for the sake of writing the novel. 

The articles flashes before you, paragraphs of information presented that you proceed to skim through. 

“Falling in love is compared with the feeling of euphoria…” 

You mumble under your breath, moving past it. 

“....There is a semblance of love and trust…” 

An idea for a climax ‒ you note ‒ that would tie in nicely with the finale of a romance book. 

“...Rifts are commonly experienced…” 

You have to create conflict somehow, maybe a difference in opinions. 

“Usually the act of falling in love progresses within five steps𑁋“ 

Your nose crinkles, the corner of your lips twitching. 

“There’s steps?” You mutter, body abruptly freezing. Drawing closer to your screen, your eyes slowly drift over the words. 

“Stages are reached, each increasing with the notion of being in love. They are known as,” 

Attraction. 

Curiosity. 

Attachment. 

Denial. 

Acceptance. 

It’s a list. 

Your genre can follow a list? 

Tossingthe thought into the back of your mind, you eagerly continue, curiosity running haywire at this point. 

“Attraction is the initial stage, symbolising the origin of interest and can be considered on physical guidelines.” 

“Curiosity follows as second, with interest in the person only increasing as time passes by.” 

“Attachment signifies the creation of a bond, the mind filled with new thoughts and changes.” 

“Denial is the hesitance, acting against any forms of acceptance.” 

“Acceptance. Welcoming the thought that you have fallen in love.”

Your mouth twists, each stage sounding more vague and philosophical as the one that came before it. The thought of digging out your ‘The Philosophy Behind Romance’ book from where it was discarded suddenly occurs, until you find yourself re-reading the stages a couple of times over again. 

As you lean back into your chair, there’s a glint in your eyes. 

Your biggest mistake was assuming you had the willpower to wave off the lingering thoughts, because they come pouring right back in before you can stop them. 

If by any chance, he was right𑁋

The stages would have to be followed….

Right? 

You cross your arms, skimming through the contents once again. 

Attraction. 

Did you find Taehyung attractive? 

You recall first finding him underneath the glittering moonlight, his sleeping form residing on the bench and his artwork displayed just inches away from him. You can remember him stirring, his feline like eyes holding a strong gaze that almost made you lose your breath. 

It’s the same gaze he holds while he’s painting, you pinpoint, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. 

You abruptly blink, shaking your head. 

Curiosity. 

To say you didn’t find Taehyung interesting, would have been a huge understatement. 

He was different from you, but not in a way that you couldn’t understand. Instead, you found yourself a lot more alike than you had expected, his artistic lens meeting yours. 

Attachment. 

What even is that? 

You can’t help but ponder, thinking at the most you were attached to your writing and books, having an avid imagination since you were young and always finding your footsteps gravitating towards the library. You would find yourself absolutely consumed with the different worlds, eventually leading you towards a career within it. 

It was a bond in a way ‒ one that you would always have. 

Your lips pursue, a hardened expression taking over. 

Was it possible to have the same feeling with another person? 

You let out a long sigh, eyes flickering over to the next stage. 

Denial. 

You freeze. 

The hesitance, acting against any forms of acceptance.

The thought snaps into your head unannounced and soon you’re scrambling, attempting to get back to working on your book. 

A low chuckle leaves you, tinged with nervousness. 

“There’s no possible way…” 

***

You stand awkwardly in front of the door, swaying between your two feet. 

The home before you is small, looking only to being one-story high and consisting of old granite. There’s an exceptional amount of greenery near it, with a small garden at the side where you can notice subtle cherry tomatoes growing. 

There was no telling how you could have best reacted when Taehyung had suddenly messaged you, asking if you would like to come over. You had accepted as always, but you didn’t realize what that exactly entailed until you were standing a mere couple of footsteps away from his door. 

Looking down, you groan, wishing Jin had never said anything to you. 

The sound of a lock turning has you abruptly on guard, the door yanking open before you can even collect yourself. 

And it seems like Taehyung doesn’t give you that opportunity either. 

He’s dressed in a casual tee and sweatpants, blonde hair falling to his eyes and a bit ruffled. It’s a stark contrast to constantly seeing him in his brown coat and beret, a casualness that feels too utterly unfamiliar for you. 

“Hi.” He says in a low voice, greeting you with a warm smile. 

For a moment, you could feel time stopping ‒ one simple thought occurring to you. 

He really is beautiful. 

Taehyung seems to notice your daze, brows furrowing for a moment. 

“Y/N?” 

“Uh, hi!” You squeak, probably too many octaves too high. 

“Is everything okay?” He ponders and you aggressively shake your head, to which Taehyung stares at you peculiarly for, but ultimately decides to take your word for it. 

“Come in.” He steps back in and leaves the door open for you, gesturing to you to follow. You carefully step forward, getting welcomed to the humble abode he calls his home. 

The inside is spacious and ornate, the walls being painted with striking colours and light decorations littering the area. The interior seems to match the exterior in a way, appearing rustic but unique at the same time. 

It’s cozy. And comforting. 

“I apologize for it being messy.” Taehyung states from behind you, quickly picking up a couple of art books on the ground and moving them into a nearby shelf. “My two roommates left to go out of town, and I’ve been here by myself.” 

“That’s okay.” You say right away, only to realize that also meant the two of you were alone in here. 

He seems to read your mind as well, quickly continuing, “I brought you here for a reason, though I’m not too sure how you’ll take to it.” 

You glance at him confused and he walks past you, heading towards one of the doors in the hallway. 

Following behind him, he turns to face you. “You saw what my recent art pieces were like at the showcase, but I wanted to do something different for my next pieces. Something more abstract," He explains, eyes lighting up, “and something that’s a bit more fun.”

He opens the door and your mouth falls agape. Because before you is a completely empty room and in the center of it stands a giant blank canvas. 

“What…?” You whisper in awe, walking towards it. Taehyung leans against the door frame, a huge grin on his face as he watches you. 

You turn, “What is this?” 

“I know you’ve been struggling with your novel,” He confesses, “and I thought we could paint this together. Give your creative mind a nice break.” 

You’re still in disbelief and he struts up next to you, a playful tone in his voice you’ve never heard before. “Of course, I’ll give you credit for being part of my piece.” 

A laugh escapes you, shaking your head at his antics. 

Your eyes connect with his. 

“Let’s do this.” 

***

A wave of light orange splatters diagonally onto the white of the canvas. 

You glance at it surprised, the bucket of paint still in your hands. 

Taehyung chuckles, amused with your aim. “Not bad, Y/N.” 

You smile, putting it down as Taehyung grabs a bright green one, putting all his force into it. 

It splatters in the opposite direction, almost creating an ‘X’ shape. 

He whistles at the sight and you dash over to the other buckets, kneeling down for another colour. Taehyung had luckily lent you his clothes for the occasion so as to not ruin your own, but as a result the clothes you adorned were a bit bigger in size, hanging off your frame. 

You pick up a white in curiosity and Taehyung fondly watches as you quirk your head side to side, ultimately deciding to just go with it. 

Chucking the colour against the canvas, the white creates a splatter right in the center. Taehyung hurriedly rushes over to you, a can of smaller paints in his hands with different colours. You chuckle at his eagerness and the way his hands are already stained with colour. 

“Keep going,” He encourages, eyes brighter than you have ever seen, “It looks incredible.” 

You nod enthusiastically, taking the smaller ones and splattering them across. They come out this time as blots and lines, giving more dimension to the base you and Taehyung first made. 

After having used all your energy in attempting to add in more depth with the shapes and colours, Taehyung continues, following your streaks instead of disrupting them. He’s always had an exceptional visual eye, understanding perfectly on where to pick up where you left off, and it’s definitely another one of things you’ve adored about him. 

Taehyung’s eyes are wide, a childish glint in them that you’re so happy to have been able to witness. But you don't know that it matches the same glint residing in your own eyes, mischievousness running through every fibre of your body when you pick up a small bucket of blue. 

He turns and before he has the chance to say anything to you, a hue of azure blue covers half of his face. 

He blinks in shock for a moment, hand coming up to swipe and realize that there was indeed paint on his face. However, his eyes flicker up to connect with yours and all he can see is you grinning from ear to ear. 

It doesn’t take long for him to pick up a red that lands all over the front of your shirt and side of your ear. 

From there, it’s like a chord’s snapped. 

Colours are flying back and forth, from high to low volumes, and in the midst of all this, yours and Taehyung’s voice are running loud, laughs and giggles echoing around the room. As if two children are playing together rather than two adults simply trying to paint. 

Taehyung matches your energy so well, attempting to create even more chaos when there’s orange landing directly on your hair after you skillfully managed to get a splatter of purple on his. It’s when the paint shoots out from your hair onto the canvas that an idea occurs to him, his blue covered hand slipping onto yours. 

“Wait, Y/N!” 

You freeze, staring at him puzzled. He takes your hand, leading you into the front of the canvas before backing away, gazing at you with intent. 

The look in his eyes makes you fidget a bit, wishing he would hurriedly tell you what was on his mind. 

He raises a hand, halting you in place. “Stay there. Just like that.” 

To your surprise, he picks up a large volume of purple, standing right before you. 

“Close your eyes, Y/N. Put your hands over them.” 

His stance finally alerts you to his intentions, eyes squeezing shut and hands reaching over when you feel a wave of cold paint splash all over you. You wait for a moment as it all drips down, collecting into a pool of purple right below your feet. 

Taehyung takes your hand, leading you away from the canvas and next to him as you blink, the piece of art showcasing itself to you. 

There’s colours. Everywhere. All appearing between a mixture of random to extremely skillful. All coming from you and Taehyung. And right in the middle of the mix is you. 

Your silhouette perfectly lined with a gorgeous shade of purple. 

“It’s beautiful.” Taehyung breathes.

You are suddenly very glad there’s paint all over your face, unsure if you would be able to hide the burning expression over your features. 

However, the burn abruptly increases, a stinging sensation coming from your face that wells tears. 

“Ah.” You wince, rolling into yourself as your hand hovers over your eyes. 

“Y/N!” Taehyung’s hands are cupping your face before you can say anything. “Y/N, look at me.” 

You obey his instructions, facing him but keeping your eyes squeezed shut. His thumb pads hurriedly brush out the paint that has managed to drip near your eyes. 

“Is it gone?” You urgently ask, a tear rolling down your cheek. 

“Give me one second.” Taehyung whispers, his hands disappearing for a moment before a cool cloth is pressed against your eyes. 

You let out a sigh of relief and the cloth is promptly discarded, your eyes fluttering open. 

A part of you wishes you kept them closed. 

Taehyung’s face is just inches away from yours, and you can feel the low breaths he lets out. 

It’s a fact he seems to realize in that instance himself as well, and there’s a silence that cuts through the air as you continue to stare into each other’s eyes. 

Your heart pounds frantically within your chest. After what feels like an eternity, Taehyung moves first, attempting to close the gap but keeping his eyes trained on you. You don’t move for a second, kept frozen beneath his entire presence being so close to you. 

It’s when his lips are hovering just above yours, you break the comforting silence. 

“W-Where’s your shower?” You look away, grimacing at how broken your voice sounds. 

Taehyung doesn’t respond at first, a flash of hurt crossing his features that you don’t see. But it quickly disappears and he clears his throat, separating from you. 

“The first door on your left.” 

“Thank you.” You quietly say, turning around immediately. 

You stalk up to the door, halting when your hand meets the knob. Glancing back at Taehyung, he’s standing with his hands in his pockets, staring at the artwork you’ve just made together with a somber look in his eyes. 

Your body stiffens and he glances back in your direction, a small smile on his lips that doesn’t seem to meet his eyes. 

Turning to leave, it’s difficult to ignore the way your chest tightens. 

***

Your shower was supposed to only be fifteen minutes, but it ends up feeling like a century. 

The intent should be to get the copious amounts of paint out of your hair and skin, but as the steam clouds the air and the water drips down from your forehead onto the ground, your head remains planted against the shower wall, eyes squeezed shut. 

It doesn’t help that there’s still a faint pool of purple swirling around your feet. 

Stepping out of the shower, you open the door and peek outside, only to find your clothes folded on a small chair that’s been positioned right before the bathroom. Sheepishly reaching out, you discard the clothing Taehyung had given you and put your own back on. 

You bump into Taehyung within seconds of exiting. 

“Y/N.” His eyes meet with yours and you halt your steps. There’s unease brimming in his, but it’s something he doesn’t try to bring up. 

“You’re leaving?” He ponders and you shake your head, completely confused on what to even say. 

“Taehyung…” You begin, “I‒” 

He raises his hand up, “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay.” 

It’s hard to not let the guilt show up on your face, but Taehyung leads you to the front door, opening it up for you. 

“You helped me with creating a great piece of art.” He says optimistically, “Thank you, Y/N.” 

“O-Of course.” You mumble, casting your head down. 

Before you can step out, his hand finds your wrist. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He whispers, “And I wish you the best of luck with your book. If it’s you, I think it’s sure to come out amazing.” 

His words always have a way of giving you a sense of comfort, your frustrations and conflicts with yourself melting away. 

But you don’t expect what he says next, “If you ever need anything, anything at all,” The gaze in his eyes leaves you forgetting how to breathe, “I’m always here.” 

It’s not until he lets go of you that you remember your intent to leave, slipping away slowly as he closes the door. 

***

Jin doesn’t understand why you’re so intent on giving him a heart attack. 

The door slams open and you suddenly emerge. But Jin doesn’t have time to retaliate about you freaking him out constantly or that you’ve been out all day and that you need to be making more progress with your book. 

Instead, it looks like a piece of your soul’s been crushed. 

“Y/N?” He loudly ponders, simply left just staring at you as you hurriedly kick your boots off. 

“Jin!” You exclaim, seemingly breathless. 

“Did you run here or something?” He asks, a tinge of concern in his words. You simply hand him your coat, heading into your room. 

“Where’s my computer?” You question, glancing at him wildly. He’s taken back a bit, but he answers your question. 

“There was an electrical issue that needed to be fixed so I temporarily moved it.” He points down the hall, “It’s in the spare room with all the hard copies.” 

“Good.” You exhale, dashing over. 

“Wait, Y/N‒” He isn’t able to get a word in, the door closing with a loud thud. 

There’s a plethora of questions at the tip of his tongue, ranging from why it took you so long to what could have possibly happened, but Jin isn’t able to ponder for long when he suddenly hears the frantic typing of your keyboard. 

***

Twenty-four hours. 

Jin crosses his arms, standing in front of the room that you have yet to emerge from since the past twenty-four hours. He didn’t say much after you had barged in yesterday and confined yourself inside, simply locking up for the day and leaving some takeout on the table outside in case you got hungry. 

And that was all due to the look in your eyes. 

It’s a look he’s seen before, on days where you’ve been engrossed in your writing, too occupied with your own racing mind to halt your actions. However, this time he notices a sense of urgency that wasn’t there before. 

Which is why when you do finally emerge, he can’t believe what you’re waving in front of his eyes. 

“Here you go.” You say, handing him the USB in your hands, “It’s all done, the entire novel.” 

“Y/N.” He says astonished, staring at you in pure awe, “How did you manage to write it all?” 

You laugh at that and Jin is a little unnerved, wondering how on earth you didn’t look crazy after staying in that one room for so long and just simply typing. 

“I think I’ll always be a hermit to some degree.” You toss your coat over your shoulders, reaching down for your shoes. 

“Where are you going?” He questions, watching as you finish putting on your boots. 

You smile, “I have to go find someone.” 

Jin’s eyes widen and without saying another word, you turn to head towards the door. 

He scoffs underneath his breath once you leave. 

“I knew it.” 

***

Taehyung isn’t picking up your calls. 

You hurriedly dial the number again on your phone, hearing the familiar ringing over and over until you’re sent to voicemail. 

Once the other end beeps, you mumble underneath your breath. 

“Taehyung, call me please.” 

After leaving the message, you slide your phone into your coat pocket, glancing at the destination you hurried towards. 

The home is still there, appearing exactly how you had just left it two days ago. 

You frantically knock against the door. 

Surely it opens, but to reveal someone else entirely. 

“Oh.” You mutter, your expression of relief morphing into awkward surprise. The man standing before you looks equally confused, surveying your face. 

“You are…?” He squints, like he’s attempting to place a name to your face. 

You answer right away, “I’m Y/N.” 

“Y/N?” He repeats, eyes sparkling. “Really? Wow, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” 

A nervous laugh escapes you, “And you are…?” 

“Oh, sorry.” He sheepishly smiles, reaching out his hand. “My name is Jimin, I’m one of Taehyung’s roommates.” 

You nod in recognition, “Are you looking for Taehyung?” 

“Yes!” You suddenly exclaim, “Do you know where he is?” 

“I just got back in last night.” He says with a grimace, “But Taehyung wasn’t here, the last I heard he was preparing for his next showcase.” 

Your eyes widen. 

“Thank you, Jimin! I’ll be on my way now!” He waves you goodbye and you spin on your heels, knowing exactly where you needed to be. 

***

The art museum looks exactly the same, pieces on for display and spectators walking from room to room, inspecting each one. 

However, each exhibit represents a multitude of different artists, none consisting of the one you’re searching for. 

“Excuse me.” 

You poke a lady that’s wearing a gallery uniform, expectantly looking at her. 

“Where is Taehyung’s‒” You bite your tongue, “Sorry, V’s exhibit?” 

“Ah, I’m afraid we’re in the midst of clearing up for his next one.” She says with remorse, “There are some of his pieces still left over there if you’d like to view them.” 

“I see…” Your shoulders slump in defeat, but you do thank her for helping you out. Heading towards the direction she pointed out, you find the paintings from the last time you had visited the museum. 

The corners of your lips curl up. You recall being here, attempting to find the peculiar man after seeing him underneath the starry sky without knowing much about how close you would grow to be. 

You come across the same painting, remembering how easily his ability to capture expansive sceneries was. But that’s when you see one of his new pieces, a soft gasp escaping you. 

It’s the painting you created together, fully displayed in all its glory. 

But it’s not the only one. 

There’s a set of three different canvases, all with artworks of you. 

One of them is the same painting of the night sky you saw before, but the sky is painted with a deep purple now, the same colour that was outlined with your silhouette. The moon is completely full, stars scattered around that are brighter with a hue of white. You don’t fall to notice that there’s also a bench added at the bottom. 

Another one of them is a splatter of photographs, photographs you didn’t even know he took of you. There’s images from the river side, pictures coming from the marketplace, and in all of them he’s managed to capture the spark in your eyes. 

The last one has you frozen. 

It’s a portrait, but not just a portrait of you. 

It’s a portrait of you reading.

The image is uncanny, the light hitting your side profile at a lovely angle, the book in your hands being carefully held, the excitement in your eyes even brighter than the photographs. 

Your brows furrow, wondering when Taehyung could have gotten such an image of you. But then you realize he doesn’t ‒ that he’s created the image through himself. 

That’s when your eyes have the instant to flicker down, breath hitching once you discover what he’s named all three pieces. 

My Muse. 

By Kim ‘V’ Taehyung. 

Everything stops, and all you’re left being able to do is to simply stare. 

“I’m assuming I can’t keep this a surprise anymore.” 

You whirl around at the speed of light, recognizing that deep tone from anywhere. 

Taehyung stands before you, a soft smile on his lips. 

“It’s incredible.” You whisper, “How did you…?” 

“I was working on it for a while.” He steps next to you, pointing to the first, “That one was made a few nights after I met you.” He points to the second, “That one was after we had spent time together.” He points to the last, “And that one I made last night, after finishing reading one of your books.” 

You stare at the portrait, observing that the book that you’re reading is indeed one of your own. 

He read the one where a man turns into a fish. 

“You read it?” Disbelief is laced in your voice, mixed with an odd sense of pride. 

“Of course, I’ve been wanting to read one of your books since I met you.” He explains, scratching the back of his head. “You saw my art, but I never got a chance to see yours.” 

You’re simply at a loss of words. You ‒ the person that had a remark for anything and was able to write countless words at bullet speed, had no more to say. 

Taehyung stares at the ground, chewing down on his bottom lip. 

“Has your novel writing been going okay?” He blurts, attempting to draw the attention away from his art. 

That snaps you out of it. “Uh yeah, I actually finished it.” 

“You did?” His head snaps up in astonishment, “Congrats.” 

You warmly smile, “Thanks.” 

After a moment of silence, he clears his throat, “Listen Y/N, I’m really sorry for not expressing it sooner.” He gestures to his art pieces, “I’m not the best with explaining my feelings, so it's easier for me to integrate it somehow into my‒” 

You cut him off mid-sentence, your lips meeting his. The surprise spreads over his face instantaneously, but it doesn’t take Taehyung long to reciprocate, moving his lips against yours. 

You separate from him and he blinks, as if caught up in a daze. 

“You never asked me what my book was about.” You breathe out. 

His brows furrow, “What was it about?” 

You grin mischievously, “It’s about a writer and a painter falling in love.” 

Taehyung seems to be at a loss for words now, gazing at you in pure surprise. 

“Really?” He asks, and you cheerfully nod. 

“Yup.” You find his hands, interlacing them with yours. 

“I’m really sorry.” Remorse enters your eyes. “Romance has truthfully, never really been my genre.” 

Taehyung lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s okay. Maybe we can see if that changes.” 

There’s a giant smile on your lips that he matches with his own. 

Tightening his warm hold on your hand, the pair of you walk away together from the exhibit.

You laugh to yourself. 

Maybe romance as a genre wasn’t so bad after all. 

[rist-ix]

Hi Rist! Can you give us a snippet of the next chapter of tbhtbh? 🙏🏻

I can't give u plot yet. But I can give u death and destruction if you want?

Layla used to tell them so much about her homeworld.

It's brilliant blue skies, it’s crystal clear waters. The gentle currents that would guide the boats of fishers and shellfish farmers from and to their homes; the salty winds that would rustle through palm trees and orchards, bringing rain in the morning and swarms of jewel colored birds in spring.

She used to talk about it with such warmth, such longing, an undying loyalty and love for her home and her people and her duty as their princess. Even when she had raged and resented her parents for the way they'd caged her in, she would have done anything for them. Anything for the vibrant, beautiful kingdom they all loved.

Bloom had never seen its beauty.

The first time she'd stepped foot on Andros had already been the beginning of its end. Even after Council Hall, when they were in dire need of a place to lay low, they never dared to return here.

The realm of the tides never got the chance to recover. The collapsing Omega Portal had robbed Andros of a crucial magical pillar, and when its atmosphere didn’t clear up, its waters didn’t calm and its mermaids were not freed from the monstrous mark on their necks…

It's like an infected body, desperately trying to rid itself of the sickness festering within. Killing itself with its own seizures, its own fever, its own madness. Murky oceans shaping tidal waves, skies heavy with clouds never ceasing their storms, the very earth breaking open and spitting black ash into the air.

They had met travelers two years later who said the fires were still burning.

Still. There's a difference between hearing about it, and seeing it first hand.

The second her feet touch Andros' rust-brown earth, gusts of hot, searing wind start tearing at her hair and her clothes, burning hot against her skin. Salt, sulfur and smoke make her eyes water, her lungs seize; every breath tastes like poison, and hiding her mouth and nose in her sleeve does little to make it more bearable.

When the glow of teleportation subsides and her vision clears, it reveals the full scale of Andros' fate.

Skies like molten iron, bleeding murky rays of sunlight through blackened clouds that seem to glow red from within. Their light is dim and pale compared to the bursts of sickly yellow lightning striking the waves below, over and over again. The horizon is never calm, the twisted branches of electricity reminding her of a nervous system in panic. To the east, lush green jungles have been charred to pitch black fingers reaching skyward. Beyond, red-tipped mountains cough ash and fire into the air.

It's almost beautiful, this deadly display of colors.

For a few seconds, that keeps the horror at bay.

Valtor lands beside her with his usual grace, showing not the smallest sign of discomfort. She can't tear her eyes away from the shaking, shuddering corpse of this kingdom she once knew, so she doesn’t see his expression. But she imagines he must be proud.

A new Domino. Except this time, he can savor its destruction without his pesky, selfish regrets. He's always hated Andros, after all.

“The view never fails to amaze, doesn’t it?”

Valtor makes a swirling gesture with his hands, and the searing wind tearing at her hair lets up. The taste of ash on the air fades as well, and she realizes he's shielding them from the worst of the storm.

Unwilling to yell against it, most likely.

It doesn’t make it easier to answer. For once, she is genuinely speechless.

She turns around to look at him, and finds him already watching her from the corner of his eyes. Almost eagerly, as if awaiting her outrage. Her revulsion.

Whatever he finds in her expression seems to satisfy him, because he smiles and turns his back on her, surveying their surroundings.

“Do you know where we are?”

She does. She knew before they even stepped out of the portal where it would lead them, and she has dreamed of this place often enough to know it blind.

The crumbling stone arches, the single circular structure rising from the sea. Saltwater in her mouth, her nose; her ribs still aching from Icy's blast to her back. A memory so vivid it’s hard to distinguish from reality, for a moment.

“We met here,” she says. Despite the relative silence within his shields, her voice feels small.

If they had known then what would happen, would she and her friends have even come? Surely, whatever damage Andros would have suffered under Valtor's attacks would have been preferable to this. If they had simply stayed at Alfea, hadn’t snuck out and simply acted like the students they still were, it could have all been so different.

Valtor clicks his tongue, chiding.

“We first met on Solaria, dearest. But I'm glad you remember that day.”

He trails his fingers over the rough, salt-encrusted stone of a pillar.

“I think of it often. I'd been dying to meet you again once I knew who you were. The very last princess of Domino, just when I feared there was nothing left of it. 'How often does one get the chance to destroy the same dynasty twice?' I thought. You must have been meant for me, an opponent like no other. Our final battle, your death, only that could mean true victory.”

He smiles to himself. She can tell from the way he inclines his head, the way he speaks, even if she can’t see his face.

“I don’t make a habit of being wrong, but I suppose even I have to admit foolishness, here.”

The wind around them howls, and the spray of harsh waves crashing against their little ruin evaporates against his shield.

His head tilts in her direction, just a little.

“Do you ever miss it?”

He doesn’t have to clarify. She knows exactly what he means.

How they had chased him through the entire dimension, the thrill of combat hot in her veins. Every fight a point to prove, a cocky race to the top, it didn’t even matter if she failed because she got quicker, closer each time. Locking eyes over the blaze of their colliding magic and understanding perfectly how the other felt.

Knowing that she would be his undoing. No matter how long it took, she would be the one to end him. The brilliant, powerful, immortal wizard that not even Omega could hold; she would bring him low.

The simple, reckless single-mindedness of it.

She also remembers that sense of safety. Tecna's shields humming to life around them, Stella's sarcastic little comments there to take the edge off of their numerous close calls. The unwavering certainty that nothing could hurt her, because her friends were there, and once the battle was over they'd go home and sleep it off, huddled together on Stella's giant bed.

“Every day,” she tells him.

Even Valtor, self-serving and arrogant as he may be, can’t ignore what she's really saying.

[aidanchaser]

Oh no - I got bit by the Loveybug. Seriously, this snippet has been haunting me for actual days. Finally sat down to write it today.

Loveybug origin story can be found here, by @blur0se, @pisoprano, and @asukiess.

3.7 K; rated E for emotionally damaging (jk it is e for everyone aka G for General audiences but it's catwalker and loveybug so of course it's emotionally damaging)

Read on Ao3 or below

The princess was just as beautiful as all the whispers of the forest had claimed. Her hair was the color of a lavender field in the height of spring, and her eyes glistened the very same blue as the river that cut through the heart of Elphame, the river that divided her clan and his. Her beauty, however, was not why he was here; he was here because he loved someone else.

Catwalker bowed low as he was presented to Princess Loveybug of the Heathers, his charge for the next twenty-nine days—at least, he had been told his services would be needed for the turn of one moon. Beyond that, it was hard to say. No one seemed to know when Ladybug would return to resume her duties as the princess’s bodyguard. No one seemed to know where Ladybug had gone.

Princess Loveybug smiled and held her hand out to him. He pressed his lips to it and swore his fealty. He meant every word of his oath, though if she knew who he really was, she would never have accepted it.

Prince Adrien the Golden was set to inherit his father’s kingdom, as Princess Loveybug was set to inherit her mother’s. But their families had been at war for eons, a war that had only escalated with Prince Adrien’s sudden disappearance. His father believed that the Kingdom of the Heathers was responsible for Adrien’s vanishing and, well, he wasn’t entirely wrong. But it wasn’t Princess Loveybug who had stolen Prince Adrien away, it was Ladybug.

Prince Adrien had donned the guise of Chat Noir, snuck out during the darkest nights, and met Princess Loveybug’s guard, Ladybug on the field of battle. They’d fought each other, they’d saved each other, and in the course of their shifting relationship he had fallen hopelessly, madly in love with her. But she had a duty to her kingdom and her princess. She could not love him in return.

So Adrien had decided to stop dividing himself between his father and Ladybug. He would commit, fully, to serving Ladybug. He had run away properly, crafted a new identity to stay close to Ladybug, to serve as her soldier in the war against his own father, only to find that by the time he had climbed the ranks to fight at Ladybug’s side as part of the princess’s guard that Ladybug was gone.

He would perform her duties in her stead without complaint, but he was not going to give up searching for her.

Princess Loveybug’s painted smile was coy as she curtsied her thanks for his oath. Her soft pink skirts flounced as she suddenly skipped out of the grand hall, but her pale, translucent wings stayed low and flat against her back. Catwalker followed, rapier jostling against his hip as he struggled to keep up with her pace. He’d been cautioned that the princess moved quickly and impulsively. She’d given more than one guard the slip.

And, just as he had been warned, her skip turned into a run; Catwalker dashed after her.

“Your Highness, wait,” he pleaded, terrified she would turn a corner and he would have to admit that he had failed Ladybug before his duty had hardly begun.

But she did stop. She turned and tipped her head at him. Something about her blue eyes seemed distant despite the quirked smile on her bright pink lips. “You’re really going to call me ‘Your Highness’ for the next month?”

“Would you prefer ‘Princess’?”

She drew her lips into a sour pucker as she pondered his question. “Lovey is fine,” she said, then resumed her sprint away from him.

Catwalker was already beginning to rethink his oath, but he sprinted after her dutifully. She led him on a chase through the castle corridors and up to the battlements.

The sun was at its zenith and the tower empty at the height of day. His father’s attacks were often relegated to the dark of night, and the Heathers’ soldiers were likely resting in preparation to defend the castle should the akuma of the night draw too close. But knowing an akuma was unlikely to strike didn’t ease Catwalker’s nerves as Princess Loveybug climbed onto the parapet.

The wind caught her lavender hair, and once in motion, the strands glistened gold with glamor. Catwalker supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Princess Loveybug used a glamor to create her appearance—he did the same as both Chat Noir and Catwalker—but it made him curious to know what she looked like when she dropped it. Were those cold eyes he had glimpsed a reflection of who she was when she did not have to perform as a princess?

“Your Highness, I’m not sure it’s safe up here. Your mother—”

“Who’s this ‘Highness’ you’re talking to?” the princess asked as she swung one leg over the outside of the wall, perching herself across the parapet like it was only a riding horse and not a hundred-foot drop down the other side. She might have wings to catch herself if she fell, but he did not have wings to follow her. Many fay did; Prince Adrien did not, and so neither did his glamor.

“Would you come down please, Princess Lovey?” he asked, conceding at least the name, though he could not dare give up her title.

She looked down at him with raised eyebrows. “Are you afraid I’ll fall?”

He looked at her wings, still limp against her back and glinting in the golden sunlight. “I just think it’s unwise for you to be out in the open.”

“But isn’t that what you’re for? My knight to protect me?”

She gave him that coy smile again, but against the warm afternoon, her eyes looked strangely cold. He swallowed, unsure what to make of this flirtatious yet distant princess whom he had just pledged himself to.

“I know I’m not Ladybug—”

She laughed. It was loud, sudden, and she tipped backwards from the force of it, falling flat against the parapet.

“No,” she gasped between fits of giggles, “you’re not Ladybug.” She couldn’t seem to contain herself, though Catwalker didn’t see the joke.

“Your Highness, are you all right?” he asked.

The title sobered her. “I told you not to call me that.”

At least, capricious as she was, he knew how to bring her back to herself. He climbed up on the parapet, using the look-out point as a step and leaning against the cut stone so that he was eye-level with her, stretched out along the top of the stone slab.

“Princess Lovey, will you please let me escort you inside to safety?”

She eyed him with that strangely cool stare though her lips remained pursed in a curious pucker. “Aren’t you worried that you’ll fall?”

“I beg your pardon?” he blinked, surprised by the turn of the question.

“You’re so worried I’ll fall, but you’re not worried about yourself? What will happen if you fall off this ledge?”

“I won’t fall,” he replied.

But that answer didn’t satisfy her. She rolled her eyes and sat back up. “You’re supposed to say a cat always lands on its feet.”

Catwalker closed his eyes and tried to bury the laugh that burgeoned in his chest. He felt his lips twitch, but he hoped it came off as distaste rather than amusement. He’d crafted this identity to be dutiful, not to banter.

“I believe even a hundred-foot drop would hurt a cat,” he said.

“Then don’t come up here.” Her voice turned sharp on him rather suddenly.

He was unsure what he had done to earn such acid in her tone, but he did his best to appease her. “Princess, you know I must go where you go.”

She replied with a dismissive grunt and kept her back to him. An awkward silence passed between them, one Catwalker was unsure how to fill, or even if he should fill it. Something about this princess’s shifts in moods reminded him of dealing with his father. She seemed to be working hard to keep him at arm’s length, and he didn’t understand why.

“Do you know why Ladybug left?” she asked suddenly.

He swallowed down his own heartache and reminded himself once more that he was here not out of love, but out of duty. “I assume she had a mission of some sort to protect her kingdom. I could think of no other reason she would abandon her post at your side, Your Highness.”

“Do you really think Ladybug is so devoted to duty?”

“I know it to be true. I fought at her side long enough to see it.” And, since he could not tell the princess he had confessed his love and been rejected, added, “And I have heard stories that affirm what I have seen. Did she not turn Chat Noir’s affection down because of her duty to you?”

The ice in Princess Lovey’s voice seemed to melt. “Is that what people say happened?”

“Did Ladybug tell you otherwise?”

“Ladybug may have had a… different perspective.” Loveybug shrugged, then abandoned the conversation about Ladybug as quickly as she abandoned one mood for another. She laid back down and propped her chin up with her hands. “So tell me, knight, is duty truly the most important thing to you?” she asked.

“It is, Your Highness.”

Her upper lip curled back, and he found that a sneer looked painfully odd on the princess’s face, like her glamor wasn’t built for distaste. “Will you please just use Lovey? Isn’t it your duty to do what I ask of you?”

Catwalker swallowed down the urge to protest. His duty was to both protect her and obey her, and when those two things conflicted, well… he had to look for a loophole. “Will you accept Princess Lovey?”

She hummed as she pondered his offer. Her legs kicked back and forth aimlessly behind her and she tipped her head, almost like a cat examining something it had never encountered before. “I think the real question is whether you’ll accept Princess Lovey.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Be honest,” she pressed, “what do you think of me so far?”

Catwalker blinked, unsure what the protocol was for this sort of conversation. He could not critique the princess he was sworn to protect, but he also could not lie to her. “I suppose I wish you didn’t enjoy climbing the parapets so much,” he said.

She laughed again. “I suppose if I fell, you’d have to leap after me, wouldn’t you?”

“I would, Your H—Princess Lovey.”

She twirled a finger through her lavender hair. It glittered around her finger, glamor flickering, but it held strong and gave no clue as to what lay beneath it. “Don’t you think that’s funny?”

Catwalker blinked. “Do I think plunging to certain death—” and certain escalation of war between their kingdoms when once his glamor dropped, everyone would learn that he was the missing prince, “—is funny?”

“You’re supposed to protect me,” she said, “but if I were to fall and you jump after me, you would just have to pray that I could protect you. It’s funny.”

He still did not see the humor. “Did you bring me up here just to point out my shortcomings as your guard?”

But Princess Lovey did not answer. She sat up and swung both legs over the parapet. Catwalker’s stomach climbed into his throat, terrified she might jump just to see if he would follow.

“Ladybug was supposed to be all about duty,” Princess Lovey said suddenly, voice rather distant. “Her job was to protect her kingdom when no one else could. She wasn’t always the best at it, and she wasn’t always right, but she always fought as long as she could.”

Catwalker didn’t like the way Princess Lovey spoke like Ladybug was never returning. “Princess, I’m sure that wherever Ladybug has gone, she’s still doing her duty to you and to her kingdom.”

Loveybug continued to swing her legs, ballet-slippers bouncing off of the stone wall easily. “Your faith in her is pretty strong for someone who only joined her ranks a few months ago.”

“She is incredibly capable of inspiring those who have fought beside her.”

She turned to look at him, smile quirked with amusement but her eyes remained cold and unfeeling. “And do I inspire you, Catwalker?”

He wondered if this coldness was because the princess felt abandoned by her most trusted guard. He certainly felt abandoned by Ladybug, but he also knew how unfair of him it was to believe Ladybug cared for him. “I would never let anything come between me and my duty for you,” he assured Princess Loveybug.

But that didn’t seem to be the answer she wanted. She rolled her eyes and looked out to the open fields below them. The river glittered on the horizon and somewhere beyond that was the home that Catwalker had abandoned to stay by Ladybug’s side.

“Then I suppose now might be a bad time to tell you,” Loveybug began slowly, and she turned to look at him, blue eyes still hollow, “that Princess Lovey has already given you the slip, and I’m merely a glamor you’ve been chatting with this entire time.”

Her words hit him as solidly as if the princess had slapped him. “Princess—”

She laughed again, more genuine this time. “That’s the look I thought you’d give.” She paused her laugh only to mimic his shocked expression—eyes wide, lips pulled into a small “oh”—then she dramatically clutched her hand to her heart, like it had snapped in two, and burst into another bout of laughter. It did not abate Catwalker’s panic.

“Your Highness—”

But this time, the title did not sober her laughter. She continued to giggle, and leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. It was warm and solid, as real as the stone beneath their feet.

“I’m still your Lovey; I promise.”

Catwalker was not amused. “Do you tease all of your guards this way?”

“Only the ones I like.” She stayed there, stretched out against the peak of the parapet like a cat lounging in the sun, lips hovering near his ear. “And I do like you, Catwalker, even if you’re not—”

She bit down on her tongue then buried her head in her arms.

“Even if I’m not Ladybug?” he finished. “I swear, Princess, I’ll be as dutiful as she ever was.”

“Ugh, you swear so easily,” she grumbled into her arms. “Stop, or I’ll start to think you don’t mean it. Anyway, that wasn’t even what I was going to say.”

“I apologize for being presumptuous.”

She blew a raspberry into her arms, loud and unbecoming. “I like you even if you’re not fun.”

“‘Fun’?”

“Fun,” she repeated. “No sense of adventure,” she gestured to the broad expanse of heather a hundred feet below them, “no sense of humor,” she poked the corner of his cheek, and elicited not even a fragment of a smile, “and no appreciation for puns,” and she reached for the cat ears perched atop his head.

He ducked before she could discover they were as glamorous as her lavender hair, and his foot nearly slipped off of the edge as he did.

“I would appreciate,” he said, doing his best to ignore his racing heart, “if you would refrain from doing that again.”

She pouted. “That’s what I mean. No fun. Chat Noir was fun.”

His pounding heart came to a full stop. Chat Noir had never met Princess Lovey, but he couldn’t very well explain how he knew that. “You knew Chat Noir? The infamous thief and spy from the Gilded Kingdom?”

“I know what Ladybug told me about him,” she said, kicking her feet aimlessly once more. “That he was funny, knew a good joke, and that he was a terrible spy. She told me he fought against the Gilded Kingdom’s monstrous akumas and helped Ladybug set things right, that he helped her protect people.”

Catwalker swallowed. “What else did she say about him?”

“That he left her. Abandoned her when she needed him most.”

“She didn’t need him. Ladybug doesn’t need anyone.”

“Ladybug always needed someone.”

Catwalker did not want to argue with the princess, who surely knew Ladybug well, but he was the one who had fought alongside Ladybug in battle countless times. She had never needed him. “I’ve never known anyone as fearless in battle as Ladybug.”

“Then you didn’t know Ladybug.”

That accusation stung more than anything else the princess had said that afternoon. He had known Ladybug, far better than this moody princess had. Ladybug may have been Princess Loveybug’s guard, but he had been Ladybug’s partner. That had meant something to him. He’d always believed it had meant something to Ladybug.

“Your Highness, I know what it is to fight alongside Ladybug, and whatever fears she had, she set them aside time and again to help those in need. I’ve known no one braver than that.”

This time, she didn’t flinch when he called her by her title. She merely watched him, something curious and pensive in the corners of her eyes.

“And are you so fearless?”

“In the name of duty, yes.”

She blew another raspberry at the word “duty” then asked, “So you’ll follow me into battle tonight?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Without Ladybug to defend the castle, I’m going to defend the castle. As my guard, you’ll fight alongside me, won’t you?”

“As your guard, I will not allow you to fight.”

“Good luck with that,” she laughed. She pushed herself up onto her feet, balancing on the edge of the tower.

“Princess—” Panic filled Catwalker’s throat as she wobbled. He reached for her as she steaded herself, but in his lunge, his own footing slipped.

There was a moment where he hung, suspended in space, looking up at Princess Loveybug, but there was no coy smile on her lips. She looked empty somehow, eyes cold as frost and lips thin as an autumnal leaf.

It was is if he saw Loveybug as she was beneath her glamor, if only for a moment.

And then her distant expression turned to shock as she realized that he was truly falling. Her arm shot out with surprisingly quick reflexes and grabbed his wrist. She pulled him up against her, but now she was falling with him. With her other hand, she dug something out of her pocket, launched it to the parapet above them, and it fastened around the stone, bringing their descent to a sharp halt.

One arm held him, her other arm held their lifeline. Her feet were planted firmly against the tower wall, as if it were solid ground, and she guided him to do the same, though his safety was entirely in the hand she slid against his back.

“Your Highness, I—”

“Do you want me to drop you?”

He swallowed. “Princess Lovey, I am sorry. I’ve put you at risk, not an hour into my oath—”

“This isn’t risk,” she said, “this is fun.”

Her hand slid from his back to his shoulder, and he felt himself falling once more, but she caught his arm before he could truly begin to fall again.

“You don’t want to see if cats really land on their feet?”

His heart raced and the blood rushed to his head. He managed to say, “If you want to test that theory, Princess, may I suggest performing the experiment at ten or even five feet rather than eighty?”

She grinned, but used the line she had fastened to haul him back to the top of tower. It reminded Catwalker of Ladybug’s weapon, but he kept his mouth shut as Princess Lovey rewound the line and returned it to her pocket. He wasn’t entirely sure he could speak; his lips were still numb from his brush with death.

“You’re all right?” she asked, and she reached her hand for his cheek. His lips were suddenly no longer numb as she brushed her thumb against them.

“Fine,” he managed. “You didn’t—” He swallowed, aware the question was untoward, but he had to know, especially if she was going to continue pulling stunts like this. “You didn’t fly. Your wings…”

She twisted so they could both take a look at her back where her wings, golden in the afternoon sun, lay flat and unused.

“They’re just glamor,” she said.

“Just…” He stammered, at a loss for words. “But how—you…”

“It’s a poorly kept secret that my father is a human. No wings for me, but as a princess, I like to use a glamor so people don’t think less of me.”

“But you…”

“You don’t exactly have wings, either, Catwalker,” she said with a pout. “I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss.”

“I only—The entire time you were up there—”

“The entire time I was up there, I knew what I was doing. You have to trust me with that. When we fight tonight, we have each other’s backs, okay?” she said.

“Princess, you can’t—”

“Chat Noir liked to throw himself in front of Ladybug, like somehow her surviving was more important. You can do that here in the palace, if your sense of duty so drives you, but out there, you and I are equals. I protect you and you protect me. Do you understand?”

Her tone was no longer the high-pitched flirtatious giggle. If anything, she sounded like Ladybug. He wished she would take her hand from his cheek. It only made it more confusing.

“Princess Lovey, who are you beneath your glamor?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Who are you beneath yours?”

He glanced away.

“I trust you,” she said, “all I ask is that you trust me.”

It was his duty to protect and obey her. If she commanded his trust, he had to give it.

“It’s yours, Princess.” The promise felt like a surrender; it felt like defeat.

She pressed her lips to his cheek. If her painted lips were anything more than a glamor, she might have left a pink streak across his face.

Loveybug the flirty, flouncy, flighty princess was a facade as much as he was. Beneath it she was cold, determined, and valiant. All the things he admired in his lady.

Catwalker swallowed down his heartache, and followed Princess Loveybug back into the castle. She could ask for his trust, his faith, his duty—but his heart was Ladybug’s. He was not going to let this princess take that from him, too.