#maybe once i have like more than 10k to my name i could move

[feeblelittlehorse]

yay i have 7,000$ now 👍

[sungiescheotluv]

mirror muscles ⭑.ᐟ na jaemin

pairing: na jaemin x gender neutral reader

word count: 2.7k

tags/warnings: fluff, established relationship, suggestive, gym talk(?)

summary: doing your new resolutions with jaemin has always worked in your favor, most goals ticked off your lists. however, when you mention going to gym, jaemin's enthusiasm reaches new heights.

notes: hiyaaaa! it feels like forever since i last posted (two days omg 🙄) but i do hope you pretty stars enjoy this very indulgent fic! as an aspiring gym girlie, i'd do anything for this kind of princess treatment (particularly from jaemin 😋) also, the title of this is based on the soft play song with the same name (emo jisung, lemme give u some music recs). ok, i think i'm done here. wishing u all the best, much loveeee! <3

Note to self: never, under any circumstances, tell Jaemin your New Year’s resolution. Because one peek at your ambitious list and Jaemin will pry you from your warm bed, at the ass crack of dawn (might you add) to go to the gym because ‘nothing beats a morning pump.’

If you weren’t stupidly in love with him, you would��ve dropped a dumbbell on his toe.

How you get to this point is a lot more wholesome. Since the start of your relationship, once snow trickles down for Christmas, you two sit at your dining table with your laptops opened on Pinterest and pin-point what goals you'd like to achieve the following year. This way, you’re not shouldering your ambitions alone, having each other every step of the year as you tick off box after box. So far, you’ve managed to complete most of your goals. Go traveling, learn a new language, cook more home-cooked meals, limit screen time (still working on that) and many more. Jaemin was also progressing well: dedicating more time in his photography, reducing his coffee intake, going to bed earlier and visiting his mother more. 

For this year’s moodboard, while collecting pictures of your next set of goals, fitness content shows up in your recommendations. People in pilates studios in their pastel pink gym-sets. The aesthetic draws you in, how content people feel moving their body besides getting their 10k steps a day in. More photos start showing up, people sculpting their pride in the gym, sharing personal stories of their fitness journey and how the gym has taught them so much about themselves. What they’re capable of, what they never thought they could do and what opportunities lie await now that they’re happier in themselves. It all seems promising, even more so when you reconsider how bright your best friend’s life’s become since making the choice. She’d rarely accompany you to a game of badminton and now she’s pioneering her own run-club, amassing a social media following the size of an army.

You’d have to ask her how to get started once she’s back from her influencer trip (maybe content creating is something you needed to hop on). Then again, peering over your laptop screen to Jaemin’s glowing face, you could simply ask him. He’s been consistently going to the gym for a while now, to the point where you fake-pleaded for SM to close their gym because your boyfriend's become too buff for you to function. He’s always been gorgeous, with a face that could charm a snake, but now that he’s carved like a Renaissance sculpture, you couldn’t form a coherent sentence around him. Of course, aesthetic reasons are what lured him into the space, but he relays it’s become a lot more than that for him.

“I want to be strong, not only to build my confidence but to also protect my loved ones,” he looks directly at you, a serious hue to his eyes that has you breathless. “It’s another form of self-love, is my thinking. Showing up for myself, proving I can do hard things, even when I don’t want to. That I can step out of my comfort zone, trying new things and ultimately, living a longer life. Because at the end of the day, as much as I do this for me, I also do it so I can help you carry groceries. So that I can move furniture around when we move in together, be the one that my family calls if they need something physically demanding done,”

Fondness curves his lips, a flicker of timidity dart his eyes down to the desk before they flicker back up at you, astoundingly earnest as he says, “I’d also want to keep up with our kids. Carry them when they’re tired or run after them in a park. Those are my reasons.”

Something stutters in your chest. Then, leaps. Over the course of your three year relationship, it’s only natural that topics like this are mentioned, like marriage and children. Heck, you two shared a Pinterest board of decor ideas for the shared apartment you’d been on the lookout for. So, it shouldn't phase you but it does. How far into the future he sees with you. How he shares a bit of himself so effortlessly, in a way that lacks pressure and possesses good faith. Love and promise. All prominent themes throughout your relationship, one you thank your lucky stars for.

As a consequence, you flush. Folding like the early days of your relationships. “You’re getting bold these days. We haven’t even moved in together.”

“All in good time, angel,” he grins, looking a bit lovesick. “In any case, if this is something you wanna do, I’d be more than happy to help. Go to the gym with you so you don’t feel anxious, show you how to use the machines, get you workout clothes - whatever you want.”

You could marry this man.

You extend your arm across the wooden table, hand finding his as your fingers interlace, the same song and dance you’d hope you’d spend your life doing. “Thanks, baby.”

And now? Now, divorce weighs heavily on your mind.

In an effort to avoid the New Year’s crowd, Jaemin wakes you up early in the slum of days after Christmas where time doesn’t exist, cuddling into your half-sleeping figure with a gentle voice. Coaxes you to get up, slip on the new gym clothes you’d spent on his card (his treat, he said) and somehow, here you are, stinging eyes squinting under fluorescent lights with some EDM track playing faintly in the background.

“Oh, baby. Don’t look so down, you’re in good hands,” Jaemin coos, hand squishing your cheeks under your chin before pulling you into his chest, warm and comforting. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Couldn’t this wait until,” you glance at your fitness tracker, your own treat to yourself. “Midday? No one needs to be here at 9 am.”

“Maybe, but it’s a good way to start your day. Or get it out of the way,” he chuckles, spinning you out his arms before he wiggles his eyebrows. “Plus, who doesn’t want to see my muscles first thing in the morning?”

He drives home his point by kissing his bicep, something that should make you cringe out your skin or disappear without a trace, but no. Perhaps you’re still sleepy, shielding a snicker with your hand because of how lame (said adoringly) he is.

“You said you’d usually start off with thirty minutes on the treadmill, right?” You nod your head. “Okay, I’ll go with you. I’ll run for fifteen and row until you're done. So you don’t constantly have me in your ear.”

You laugh, because as grumpy as you’d been on the way here, you could never grow tired of him. All his carefree and mischief nature, his sweet and generous manner - you couldn’t even if you tried. 

Few people populate the modern gym, near to none in the cardio section as Jaemin refreshes your memory on all the buttons before you begin. Beside you, he does sporadic sprints, no heavy breaths clouding his chatter with you. You, on the other hand, keep it relatively reserved for your first time, upping the speed when you want to challenge yourself, surprising yourself with the distance and time that flies by. Soon enough, Jaemin’s squeezing your hand and moving a few rows back where the rowing machines are, leaving you with your walking playlist.

Again, in a flash, time passes by, upbeat songs blaring in your headphones that make you dance through the next fifteen minutes, a simmer of sadness coming when you’ve reached time with a whole host of songs still in the queue.

“You can listen to them next time,” Jaemin winks before leading you into a dark, LED room dotted with mirrors and yoga mats. This is one of the rooms booked for classes, but for now, it’s your stretching area where you cycle through some stretches and Jaemin jokes about folding you like a pretzel. 

The one other person in the room - a woman in her thirties - coughs, before smirking your way, the heat of your embarrassment migrating to your cheeks as you swat at Jaemin. He simply laughs, stretching to reveal his happy trail and suddenly, you forget why you’re even mad. 

When you’re finished, he shows you different sections - an assortment of cable machines, the weights area and then to an area with more machines. There’s a few people occupying the machines, immersed in their own world with flushed cheeks and sweat seeping into their clothes. It fills you with relief, that no one’s focused on you and your sweating figure as if you had ‘gym newbie’ written across your forehead. Jaemin shows you some of the machines he uses, depending on what he wants to work out but for the most part, lets you decide what machines you’d want to use - if any.

“Why do I need to put on muscle? You putting me in a headlock is good enough.” You fake-complain, feeding off the gentle approach Jaemin’s taken in trying to convert you to a gym rat.

“And you say I’m the dirty one,” he tsks with a matching grin. “You don’t need to do anything. All I’m doing is showing you the options you have. The more things you try, the more likely you’ll find something you lik-”

“Is that the slut machine?”

Jaemin’s head jerks back, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. “What are you talking about?’

“This one,” you approach the machine closeby, pointing to the photo attached along with its actual name - hip adduction. “Isn’t this the one where people like, open their legs like crazy?”

Jaemin shakes his head, amusement in the smile he swipes with his hand. “Yes, it is. Wanna give it a go?”

“Hell yeah,” you climb into the machine in a rush, finding the experience more exciting than scary as Jaemin makes sure everything is in order. “This is gonna be hilarious.”

“I’m setting it to a low weight. If it’s too easy, we’ll move it upwards and try and find your range,” he comments, looking at you through his silver hair. “You ready?”

“Ready,” and you go, the weight moving like nothing, so much so that when it sets back to its original position, you’re more caught off guard by how far apart your legs are spread. “This is so raunchy, ohmygod.”

“Good thing it’s facing the wall,” Jaemin laughs at you shielding in between your legs. He ups the weight, the number looking a lot scarier than anticipated. “Let’s try this then. You should be able to rep 10 of these.”

You shuffle, a bit unconvinced. Taking a breath, you engage the machine, exerting more effort than before but managing to do one rep. Then two, then three all the way up to ten. Enough to challenge you, but not strain you.

Jaemin howls, pinching your cheek as he says, “Look at you go! That was great.”

“Thank you,” you huff, the tingle in your thighs somehow the source of the happiness in your chest. “That was really fun, actually.”

“Isn’t it?” Jaemin smiles, using some paper towel to wipe after the machine for you. “Usually people do about three sets of those. Reps depend on what you want to do - build endurance, muscle strength, all that. But that was really great, I’m so proud of you.”

And you feel proud of yourself too. Having tried something new, feeling unsure but leaning into the feeling. Letting yourself see how far you can extend yourself, pleasantly surprised with the distance. 

So, this was what Jaemin was on about.

You continue your morning like this, getting a personalised tutoring session in how certain machines works and what areas they work out. Jaemin runs through his leg day, since you two were on the hip adduction machine, enjoying more exercises like leg press and goblet squats. By the time you get to the hip thrust machine to try, someone’s occupying it. Jaemin suggests using the squat rack, the scary thing with a long barbell and weights attached to it. Sensing your apprehension, Jaemin lets you know he’s got you, coaching you through the exercise and any queries you may have about movement or positioning. Eventually, it’s your turn to lean against the incline bench and despite your fear, you work your way through 8 hip thrusts. You don’t nearly enjoy it as much as people online talk about it, which Jaemin says,

“That’s perfectly fine. There’s so many exercises that work the same areas. You’ll find one you prefer.” 

Finished for your session, Jaemin asks for you to hold tight while he does some deadlifts. It’s maddening watching him pick up such heavy weights, concentration knitting his eyebrows together with his exposed arms flexing under the tension. Wearing a sleeveless top for the gym in theory is great, but for your mental health? Bad, so bad. 

Because even if your body rings with exhaustion, the kind that’s refreshing and ensures a peaceful slumber, you’re about ready to jump his bone. 

Ill with lust, as you’d joke. 

Jaemin snickers, snapping his waist belt off with one hand, which shouldn’t be sexy but is. Your eyes then trail to the barbell, the memory of Jaemin’s set vivid in your mind.

“Did you wanna try it?” Jaemin asks, reading your mind. “We can start off with no weights. Just the barbell. There’s also different variations of a deadlift, let’s see which one you prefer.”

Out of the three, you pick the most conventional one to start with, teeth sinking into your bottom lip at what you’ve gotten yourself into. Particularly after Jaemin loads weights on each end when you've rehearsed with the barbell.

“Think of the barbell cutting your feet in half - not standing too close so that your shins are touching it and not too far away that you have to lean to grab it,” Jaemin coaches, your feet shuffling into the right position. “Nice. Let’s move onto the hinge movement,”

From behind you, his hands settle onto your hips, pulling them back with him. He pats them, a chuckle left in his wake as he steps to your side to demonstrate without overly being horny. 

Bastard.

“Like you just did, you’ve gotta hinge your hips backwards until you can’t hinge anymore. Then, you’ll move a little into your knees, like a squat almost so you can grab the barbell,” you follow along, the barbell cold against your hands as you blow a breath.

“Great. Keep your body tense, engage your core and glutes. No arch,” his hand hovers over the arch of your back, something teasing in his smile. “Show your chest, keep your head up straight and lift the barbell up. Remember to keep it close to your body before you lower it down with the same hinge movement and movement into your knees.”

You puff out another breath, the same fear you’ve conquered throughout the session whirring in your chest.

“Don’t worry, angel,” Jaemin smiles, moving behind you again with hovered hands around your figure. “I’ve got you. You’ve got you.” 

Again, his words dawn on you. All the power in your hands, a feeling your heart wants nothing more than to run towards as you lift up the barbell, strength personified as you wait at the top of your stance, smiling at the “Let’s fucking go, you’re doing it! You’re doing it, angel!” in your ear. You hinge backwards, the weight knocked down to the floor with no tension on your back as expected.

Once you’re upright again, Jaemin engulfs you in a backhug, lifting your figure off the floor and kissing your neck, drawing giggles out of you. Joy moves through your body like warm light at his excitement that exceeds your own, belief not setting in quite yet.

“I can’t believe you,” he coos, the mirror ahead of you capturing the embrace he holds you in, the elation in his eyes as he does nothing but adore you. Like he’s always done. “Actually, I can. You’ve got a laundry list of things you’re good at. Can you believe it?”

“Not originally,” you admit, the confession somewhat bittersweet. “But after this, I think I’d better have more faith in myself.”

Fondness finds itself in his lips again, a kiss against your cheek as he gently guides you out the way, lifting the barbell onto the rack with his gaze in the mirror directed to yours. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

And you fall into laughter, helping him slid off the weights before flexing in the mirror like you wanted, finding a different strength in yourself with Jaemin by your side.

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | January 20th-26th 2025

On time this week, woohoo! And less thsan 40 days until season 8B !!

Special mention to all of @tizniz's drabbles that I've been reblogging, which you can find on her tumblr or on ao3 at E & E: A Buddie Drabble Collection !

Let me know if I'm missing a tag for someone!

Complete

home is where you've called my name by atlasblue85/ @atlasblue85 (Post-S8E8: Wannabes | 3K | General): Buck plays a game with himself. It goes something like this: for every house Eddie outright rejects, he adds an item to his list of why Eddie shouldn't move to El Paso. He doesn't know what the threshold is, that magic number that will make him finally speak up and express his thoughts to Eddie, but until he finds it, this is how he's coping. They're up to nine so far. Nine perfectly good houses, nine reasons Eddie shouldn't go.

you're a dog (i'm your man) by withmeornotatall / @chronicowboy (Dog Shelter AU | 3K | General): "Hey." He turns around, leans against the doorframe, tries to look casual. "Maybe, only if you're free of course, you could come round and let Chris pick out a band aid for you tonight. Don't want you bleeding out before you can get your Spider-Man band aid." Buck lights up like the fucking sun. Oh no. Eddie has one rule: never take a dog home. But he thinks Buck might be worth the risk. (OR: eddie is a dog trainer with patience, buck is a shelter worker with more bark than bite)

🔥 My Mouth Don't Move When I'm In Too Deep by taegyungie (PWP, Semi-Public Sex | 7K | Explicit): But here’s the thing: Eddie’s taken giant mouthfuls of life and chewed every last one of them up. He’s taken enough, he’s still taking enough - he doesn’t want to be the one to ask for it. All he can do is offer himself up, over and over, and hope that Buck will finally get the hint and dig his claws into what’s been his from the very start.

🔥 Five Years by aubrey_writes (Blip AU | 8K | Mature): Buck gets blipped. Eddie's left behind. A love story told through what Eddie did in his absence.

Liminal Space by ameliahart (NDE, Getting Together | 8K | Teen): Eddie Diaz dies on a sunny afternoon in January. It seems fitting, he thinks, that it should happen like this: trapped beneath three floors of a collapsed apartment building, a piece of rebar through his right lung, and his eyes on the love of his life. Because of course Buck is here with him, watching horrified as Eddie’s love and life bleed out around him.

Buck, Bedbugged and Bewildered by writedontfight (Post-S8A AU | 8K | Explicit): Buck gets bedbugs, so he's staying at Eddie's until they're gone.

🔥 everything you need (put all you need in me) by jaekyu (PWP, FWB | 9K | Explicit): Eddie imagines it. The faux-domesticity of grocery shopping with his best friend and full-time fuckbuddy, filled up with come like a jam donut or something. It would be kind of ironic. It would be definitely, wholeheartedly, totally erotic.

My boy only breaks his favorite toys by paleredheadinascifi (Amnesia, Post-S8A | 10K | Teen): Eddie wakes up five years in the future. It turns out five years is all it takes to ruin a friendship and run your life into the ground. Or, Eddie gets hurt and his apparently now ex-best friend Buck hops on a plane to El Paso. They figure out what the fuck happened together.

🔥 Firelight by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Post-S7, Monster Eddie, HOH Buck | 61K | Explicit): When, in the worst of missing Christopher, Eddie suddenly finds himself having literally turned into a monster, Buck - who is also dealing with a newfound hearing loss diagnosis - is willing to do anything to protect him. Even from himself. OR: Eddie is a creature from Swedish folklore, feat. HOH!Buck

WIP

Kiss Me Once Cause You Know I Had A Long Night by I_still_dont_understand_13 / @sherlockcrossing (Prompt collection | 35/? | 23K | Teen): 100 kiss prompts.

35. 44. A goodbye kiss, but neither of you can quite let go 

🔥 An Angry Blade by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-8x05: Masks, Cursed Buck | 1/6 | 8K | Mature): Buck finds out that the curse of Billy Boils is VERY real, and far more complicated and dangerous than he could have expected.

🔥 Gentle On My Mind by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Shannon Lives, Buck/Eddie/Shannon | 12/? | 76K | Explicit): In which Shannon lives, tells a lie, and sends hers, Eddie's, and Buck's lives down a very different path.

🔥 Doe & a Drop of Golden Sun by ohstars/ @oh-stars (Canon Divergent, Dad Buck | 8/? | 37K | Teen): Buck doesn't mean to keep secrets from everyone, but he also can't talk about the pain he experiences on a day to day basis. With his nine-year-old living across the country and his custody limited to one monthly visit, Buck doesn't know how to share this part of himself. How does he tell his team of six years that he's had a kid this whole time? How does he tell his sister? How does he tell his Edd-- best friend? It's fine. The universe isn't going to give him a choice in the matter when the worst thing imaginable becomes his reality.

Podfic

Sunlight is Fire (Burning is a Matter of Degrees) by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Incubbi Buck, FWB | 1-1.5h | Explicit): In the wake of Buck's leg injury, Eddie learns that his friend needs some unusual methods to help him recover. Eddie's willing to do whatever it takes to help Buck, and it's not like this could make his quiet pining any worse, right?

Bed Sharing Concerto in Monsterfucking No. 3 by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Werewolf Eddie, Human Buck, Only One Bed | 10-20min | Explicit): Buck has the worst fucking luck. His only consolation here is that Eddie’s with him, so at least he’s not alone in a cabin with no Wifi, no central heat, no cell service, and no proper winter gear. The water works, the pipes haven’t frozen (yet) so at least he can get briefly clean. He’s so focused on scrubbing the day away that it’s not until he gets out and heads into the bedroom that he realizes— There’s only one bed.

A Chorus of Howls by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Werewolves, PWP | 10-20min | Explicit): Buck is running through the woods. He’s on two feet, four, two again, dodging around trees, kicking up dirt, leaping and landing hard. Behind him, sometimes, he thinks he can hear another set of feet—a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, black on black, shadow on shadow— There. There. He can smell his pursuer’s blood and he runs faster, fast as he can. He’s not going to lose. His blood is up and running and so is he.

Duet for Two Monsters by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Werewolf Eddie, Succubus Buck | 20-30min | Explicit): Buck’s been meaning to tell Eddie for a while, now. Especially now that they’re both single again. He needs to tell Eddie, because he’s pretty sure—he thinks he’s sure—that Eddie loves him back. And he won’t be intimate with Eddie without telling him. Of course, it’s a bit hard to start that conversation, on a logistical level. Hey so I have horns and a tail and feed off people’s orgasms, fun, right?

🔥 [Podfic] Buddie, It's Cold Outside by diazaster287 // fic by terranobis (Christmas, Hallmark AU | 1-1.5h | Not Rated): Big City businessman Evan Buckley travels to a small town Christmas Village in an attempt to save his personal and professional life, but when he meets the local father Eddie Diaz, he finds that he just might get the greatest present he could ever ask for.

[celestixlism]

a guide to the crushing abyss that is dating. / preview.

▹ pairing: na jaemin x fem reader ▹ genre: nevertheless!inspired, college!au, romance, angst and angst. ▹ summary: there are many fish in the sea but you never learned how to swim. also, sharks. a guide to the crushing abyss that is dating. ▹ author’s note: aha it's been a long time but i finally got a burst to work on this fic again! i'm like 10k in right now...will be done very soon (hopefully)... here's the preview for now! ▹ taglist: dm or ask to be added!

YOU'RE NOT SURE HOW THIS HAPPENED, between your previous roommate ditching you at a party to you setting up camp at a dining table surrounded by soju bottles to Na Jaemin taking a seat beside you.

“Fancy, seeing you again.” Jaemin settles down and gives you a smile. 

“It seems like your kind of scenery this time, doesn’t it?” you quip back but nevertheless, still scooting a bit over to make room for him. It’s a party after all and you did have a decent amount of alcohol in your system. 

He throws his head back and emits a chuckle. Your lips can’t help but curl up into a smile too.

“Want a drink?” Jeno offers, holding out an empty shot glass to Jaemin. 

He nods his head before taking it. “Yeah, sure.”

“Pass me the other bottle too.” 

You reach out your hand to grab the other bottle on the table before Jaemin places his hand over yours. “Nah, I got it. I’ll pour you a drink,” he says before moving to get the bottle and filling your glass to the brim before handing it back to you. His moves are fluid and you wonder if he’s had any to drink beforehand. 

A phone rings and Jeno promptly stands up. “Wait, sorry I have to take a phone call.” Jeno excuses himself from the table and starts walking towards the balcony with his phone next to his ear. 

“Cheers.” Jaemin raises a brow at you before touching your shot glass with his.

You nod your head before downing the shot. The familiar burn of alcohol slides down your throat while the bass of the music pounds in your ears.

“You should give me your number," Jaemin drawls.

You knit your brows together. “Why?”

“In case, we ever need to talk.” Still, he grins at you with his gaze steady.

“We don’t have class together anymore,” you point out, still confused. “Plus, didn’t I already ignore you enough at the library the other day?”

“Who says we have to talk about math? Unless you want to of course because I’m down to make theorems with you if you are,” he slowly drawls, leaning closer to you until your arms brush. “I like to think you were just giving me a hard time that day because I didn’t realize you were in my class last semester.”

You can’t help but emit a snort.

He’s relentless but maybe it’s the alcohol influencing your ability to make rational decisions and he is kinda cute, no-commitments and all, so you mindlessly pass him your phone over to him without another word.

Just because he has your number doesn’t mean he’s ever going to use it anyways.

“Perfect.” He flashes those pearly whites once more.

Maybe your perception of distance is a bit hazy because you could swear, he seems to be closer to you than before.

Your phone then rings and the screen lights up with his name.

“I’ll text you sometime.”

“Sure, whatever,” you reply dismissively before pouring yourself another shot of soju. The tangy taste of the artificial yakult flavour slides down your throat and your nose starts to burn the slightest bit.

“You have something in your hair.” He shifts and gently threads his fingers through the strands of your hair.

The alcohol dulls your senses and your rationality a bit but you still remember that this is Jaemin: the fucker of all and the lover of none.

“Thanks.” You blink back at him before moving back to create more distance between the two of you.

He grins back at you before lingering for a little while longer before wandering off. You think, if Jaemin is anything, he is the epitome of consistency.

[fauustic]

protective miguel o'hara drabble

you didn't hear this from me but i'm making a miguel series and its taking a lot longer than i thought (first chapter already is pushing 10k words sheesh..) and i'm having possessive miguel thoughts so i needed to GET THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM...

If Miguel had his own way outside the Spider Society and all that, he would have Lyla escort you to and from wherever your errands took you under the guise of "needing company," or as an extra precaution of staying safe.

In reality, Miguel is an anxious man. He wants to keep everything that could possibly go wrong at bay, always trying to stay five steps ahead of whatever could possibly happen. So when he comes to find out that someone had hit on you as you were out with friends, he was livid.

Of course the one time you're not wrapped in his own embrace or cuddled up in the side of his hip one late night, someone tries to take the opportunity of seeing you all alone and a little bit vulnerable, tipsy and stumbling against the arm of your friend-- contorted in a way that would have been uncomfortable if you hadn't downed a couple drinks hours before.

You had let it slip when calling him, all giggly and oblivious to the world from being a lightweight. "Migs," you had murmured into the crook of your neck, cradling the phone that let out little chuckles from your boyfriend. He's still not used to seeing you drunk, the neither of you were really big drinkers unless you were celebrating something for work or you had been roped into a socialite outing from Miguel's position at Alchemax. The Spider Society never really had anything worth going out to drink for, or maybe Miguel just never wants to hang around them too frequently. His mood always changes whenever he brings up what he does, so you haven't brought yourself to pry any more.

His tone was lax, if not a little awake. You assumed he was driving through the midnight traffic once he heard the words, "I miss you, I'm ready to come home." And Miguel always requests for you to stay on the phone with him until he sees you, until you're swallowed into a hug that threatens to crack your back because he hasn't seen you all day and he's a bit desperate for your warmth.

"What is it, mi alma?" His voice met your ears in that playful, tired way whenever Miguel catches on that blissful, drunk tone of yours's. Raspy with a hint of sleep as if he's been trying to stay awake for you despite being exhausted after a few days of little rest. You would have felt bad for keeping him awake at a time like this had you not been thinking hazily, but deep down you know he couldn't sleep without you either.

Another giggle hissed through your dopey, toothy smile. Your happiness must be contagious because you could hear his own curl of his lips when he encouraged you to spill your thoughts for a second time when you left him hanging.

"You wouldn't believe what happened tonight, baby," you slurred into the receiver and he hummed. Your ass met the concrete hard when your legs suddenly felt like jelly, the dim street lights casting a soft ambience on the side of the bar. You only felt a little vulnerable when you found yourself alone on the phone with the little reminder that your lover is still on the road. "This, this stranger tried to make a move on me. A move!" You babbled as if it was the most surprising thing in the world, "And it's so crazy because I was like, heaving over the table like my last mixed drink was about to send me over the edge. I was not at my best."

The gentle chuckles on the other end came to a halt as soon as you brought up someone else, a stranger who you didn't even remember the name of. Miguel's quietness never caught your attention as you continued rambling on about it in your drunken state, holding your free hand to your forehead to try and stay upright against the wall of the bar.

"And, obviously I was like, 'ew, who the fuck are you? I have a boyfriend-'" You had mocked yourself in exaggeration, and when you heard Miguel's stiff huff of laughter on the other end you couldn't help but laugh in blissful unawareness. "But they wouldn't shut up and even had the audacity to pull me up towards them,"

Miguel had interrupted you this time around, an eerie atmosphere to his tone. Cold, a little distant. It put your hazy mind on edge, though he would never do anything to you. "Who was this.." He paused for a moment, and you could see the hand signals he would conjure when trying to find the word for something. "Stranger? This person?"

You caught your breath when he mentioned he was minutes away now before you answered his question, a warmth settling over your chest at the inevitable entanglement of limbs the moment you find yourself face-to-face with Miguel.

"Ah, some.." Your brows scrunched, trying to remember where the mysterious flirt was from until you realized it was a work party. "Co-worker, different department, obvious prick. Hated the way he spoke to me, was trying to explain some stupid shit at work that I obviously knew how to do."

"Love," He practically cooed into his phone, and you could see the way he shakes his head in both adoration and disbelief whenever Miguel uses such a gentle pet name. Such a simple one, but the way he looks at you as if you're the entire world and more rivals whatever paragraphs he could possibly write to express his feelings for you. "I need a name,"

"You do not need a name, Migs." You laughed, and you could hear the whiney scoff of his when you caught onto his antics despite being drunk. "That worries me. I don't need you getting hurt." And you swear you could hear a small whimper, the gentleness you give him causes his insides to twist and turn painfully. Always in a tunnel of self-depreciation, he tries his best to accept the sweetness oozing from your lips, but Miguel can't help but admit he's still not used to it.

Miguel knows he isn't perfect, the insecurities flow from his exhausted tongue frequently when he's surrounded with your touch and presence every night. But when he hears you off-handedly mention how someone tried to take you away in the unknown of their home, something inside him cracks just a little bit more whenever a situation like this arises.

"Baby," By each passing moment he stayed quiet, you felt yourself sobering up. Your worst days was whenever Miguel needed space from you for whatever took ahold of his mind, those nasty thoughts that tell him something differently than what you embed within his very being. If this conversation triggered something, you would respect it without a second thought-- but the idea of being without Miguel after such a taxing week had you hold back the emotions threatening to bombard your delicate state of mind. "Migs-- Miguel, what's wrong baby? Why aren't you talking, honey?" You pleaded into your phone, briefly checking to see if you had accidentally hung up.

"Fuck," you murmured to yourself, your phone falling to your side as your other hand met the bridge of your nose- a habit you've developed from the one you love. What a silly thing.

A car door sounded throughout the humid night air nearby, and you brushed it off as another person consumed by the nightlife. Probably going to down a couple beers to forget, is what your muddled brain distractedly made up to try and stop yourself from crying. Swiping at your cheek with a pathetic feeling pooling in the bottom of your stomach, you weren't sure whether the wetness meeting the pads of your finger-tips was the fog or tears dripping off your lashes.

Your name rings throughout traffic lights and bustling cars like a prayer, boots crunching pavement until pristine-white etched with red met tears cascading onto the curb. The breath you were close to being choked up on was caught in your throat as the calm he desperately tried to exude cracked the moment he caught the cries slipping from your skin.

You unraveled your posture, straightening your neck up to meet his gaze. Miguel didn't hesitate to drop to his knees and take you into his arms as if he was a child hugging a stuffed animal. His nose met the crook of your neck and he breathed in deeply, as if he had taken a moment longer to get here you would had slip away from him- fading into the city streets like a ghost.

"Why didn't you respond?" You practically whined in his shoulder, immature and woozy from the tipsy still lingering. He only held onto you tighter, scooping you up into his arms like you were the most fragile thing in the world.

He mumbled into your hair as you returned the hug and closed your eyes, drawing into a comfortable lull from the safety of his embrace.

"What was that?" A genuine question, you couldn't hear his grumble with his mouth full of your hair. But he only scoffed, and leaned down to brush his canines against the shell of your ear, sharp yet feathery. The contrast was like a bucket of iced water dipped over you, shocking yourself out of that drunken fatigue. His words came out of as a whisper, hint of jealousy as well as protective concern.

"Worried sick, mi corazón. I'm not going to sleep until I know that bastard who put his hands on you," It came out less like a threat and more like a promise, softened by the plush of your curls meeting his lips in a kiss. "El muchacho necesita una lección, hmm?" A chuckle rolled off his tongue as he swung open the door to his sleek vehicle, setting you down with utmost care. Before you could protest, Miguel took the seatbelt in his hands and buckled you in himself- sweet and slow and everything he wasn't implying.

"Miguel, I don't need to be waited on hand-and-foot." You complain once his left hand found purchase on the steering wheel, all for show you assume because in the year of 2099 you had flying cars and automated driving and genetic splicing. But he was smooth, you had to give him that, as his frown kept a cheeky little smirk at bay. His free hand found comfort in the fat of your thigh, thumb stroking the fabric that hugged your figure nicely. He made no move, keeping the gesture innocent with genuine affection.

Miguel's not one to really show physical affection out of the confinements of your shared apartment, but ever since you had mentioned the threat of someone else trying to dumbly scoop you up and send you on your way alongside them- Miguel had kept close. Noticeably so.

His hand found itself snaking around your back and resting against the flesh atop your belly button, wedging you within the curve of his side. Miguel had always been the one to be a bit whiney, but when you denied him the opportunity to allow him to sink his fangs into the softness of your neck and angle of your jaw, he'd accidentally pout in an unexpectedly cute way and brood like a ruffled pigeon. You never allowed yourself to tease him about it though, or else he'd catch himself doing it and stop himself. The loss of such a cute expression donning his permanent scowl would have you in shambles.

Miguel's not exactly the worst with words per-se, he could explain the parallels of universes and what exactly makes them tick in harmony with effortless ambition-- but when he's faced with the pure adoration swimming within your irises as the both of you do the most mundane tasks; cooking and washing dishes, piled up on the couch for a movie you had dragged him to watch- Miguel would grow subtly emotional to the point he would have to stalk up behind you and engulf you with a hug, a stray tear or two meeting the ridge of your shoulder. And you'd hold his arms meeting the bridge of your ribs, whispering; "It's okay, darling. I'm here, here only for you."

And he'd kiss the blemishes upon your skin in return, a silent thank you as he nuzzles into your very being- the constant need to be as close as possible undermining the physical touch he craved so desperately from you. If he could use his claws to carve into your ribcage and take shelter next to your beating heart, maybe for once Miguel would be able to sleep easily.

[masterwords]

a yearning that you can't ignore

Summary: The BAU end up with a case in Chicago - missing college students - that takes them right to Derek & Aaron's doorstep. At first they're a little excited to be back in the action, but quickly the two of them find themselves mixed up and in too deep.

Words: 13.4k

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan (background Reid/Alvez but it's not much here - they are a couple in this universe though)

Warnings: canon-typical violence, stalking/obsession, gunshot, hospital, swearing, vomit (quick, due to head injury)...it's a Criminal Minds story surrounding a stalker case.

Notes: I started this fic back when CME started airing as I thought about how Hotch and Morgan probably don't mind their quiet lives, but when the opportunity arises for a little action...can they say no? (No, they cannot. As you're about to find out.) Anyway, case fics are fucking HARD TO WRITE...and it took me half a damn year to figure this out. In fact, there are 2 other versions of this fic that have nearly 10k words too because I couldn't decide what to do for the case...so maybe you'll get more case fic when I figure out what to do with all of...that. Also, this is clearly setting up a sort of second part. But it's in the Chicago Times universe, so they're all interconnected anyway. So...here.

OH! And, one more thing?! THIS IS MY 300TH FIC ON AO3! Yeah baby. 293 CM fics, 300 total.

Look at me being SO multi-fandom. lol Okay, on with the show!

**

(1)

It started with a coffee.

Just a cup of coffee, an Americano piping hot and placed on his desk with a little smiley face and an “A” where the name should be. He could tell it had come from the student coffee stand not too far away, the one he stopped at in the mornings on his way to his classroom.

He always ordered an Americano.

“Did one of you leave this here?” he asked once class had started. Silence. Students glanced around the room eagerly. He'd worked in the BAU long enough not to trust food that was just left sitting around, or really even food offered by well-meaning individuals. Probably a student, or maybe another teacher, had decided he needed a pick-me-up. That wasn't untrue, he was dead on his feet. His insomnia was creeping back in at the edges, slowly eating away precious hours of sleep. Eroding his delicate grip on his life.

He ignored the coffee and moved forward with his lecture. Teaching was starting to feel like a trap, an endless cycle of bad days. The students only half listened to him, and he thought maybe he could handle that if the games the staff played weren’t so tedious. He wasn’t cut out for the behind the scenes drama of this any more than he had been at the FBI. As with anything, there had been a honeymoon phase but that had passed and now this job was grating on him. Each morning he dragged himself out of bed and wondered why he did it. He had no inflated sense of self, no certainty that these young adults were the future...they would make their way into the world with or without him. Most of them looked at him like he was the barrier that stood firm between them and what they wanted.

The coffee ended up in the trash after all of his students had gone.

He was home the next two days with Hank, playing and singing Raffi songs and grading an endless stack of papers. He even got in a couple of decent naps with Hank which helped a little with the lack of quality nighttime sleep and his general sulky demeanor. Little sleeps were better than no sleep at all Derek had told him when he mentioned the naps.

On his desk, when he came back, was a small box of chocolates. He glanced around for a note, some kind of indication that this was left specifically for him and from whom but there was nothing but an “A” written on the little attached card.

He left the chocolates where they were and sat at his desk to begin his morning routine. There was an hour before his first class and he had a lot to do. His office was shared with another professor and this year they’d managed to work it so they were in on opposite days, a way to pretend neither had to share. Maybe the chocolates were meant for his roommate. He nudged them off to the side and pulled out a book with color coded pages marked for his lecture, scouring the passages once more to make sure they were what he wanted to convey.

The chocolates didn't enter his mind again.

It wasn't that he couldn't have put those pieces together, but there didn't appear to be a connection that warranted too much thought. It wasn't unheard of that students would gift their teachers with small bribes, incentives to give them better grades, and he had plenty of kids on the verge of failing his class. Enough of them that he wasn't surprised when they cornered him begging for extra credit opportunities or for him to be kind to them because their second cousin on their mom's side was sick or their grandmother had died (not the same grandmother that died last semester, a different one...) or that their partner had broken up with them. Those were the most common complaints, and they usually came with an offer of some kind...a coffee, candy, promised tickets to an event, you name it. No one wanted to fail a class and lose their scholarships, lose their chances.

He was soft, but he wasn't that soft. There was plenty of extra credit he was willing to offer, he was even willing to accept service opportunities, internships, journalism...he wasn't too rigid to help them out, but he paid no attention to bribes.

(x)

“Someone is giving you gifts?” Derek asked, vaguely interested. The tacos in his little styrofoam container were of much greater interest as he attempted to dump hot sauce on them and eat without making a mess of himself in the process. A few onions and a mess of cilantro fell into his lap anyway. “You know who it is?”

“No idea. I have a list of students who are struggling to pass but I can't see any of them thinking a gift would help. Especially without taking credit. You would think that if they wanted me to raise their grade for coffee and chocolates they would make sure I knew who it was. They've both just been signed with the letter A.”

“For Aaron?”

“Perhaps.”

“Maybe they're buttering you up. Were the chocolates any good?” Derek flashed that wicked little grin at him and Aaron rolled his eyes in immediate response. Derek knew damn well Aaron wasn't going to eat them, they'd probably found their way into the trash bin after hours. Hidden so no one saw, no one's feelings were hurt. But there was no way in hell he would eat them.

“Should I tell someone? Would that be overreacting?”

“What would SSA Hotchner advise someone of in your situation?”

Aaron glared from behind his sunglasses and bit into his last taco. Half of the meat fell out into his tray and he groaned miserably. He’d been on such a roll.

“SSA Hotchner isn't the expert in obsessional crimes. I'm looking for SSA Morgan to answer the question.”

Derek laughs and shrugged, telling him that he was probably overreacting. Like usual. Drawing conclusions where there aren't any because he’s so damn tired he could barely even keep his eyes open at lunch. “You sure you didn’t hallucinate the chocolates?”

“Shut up.”

“No I’m serious. Your sleep has been shit lately, baby. Not to mention...have you considered that you miss the excitement? That you’re looking for something to get your blood up a little? I know this teaching thing is starting to drag you down, I told you it would. You’re not a desk job guy. Might be time to find you something else to do.”

Derek was absolutely correct about the lack of sleep part (and the missing action part), even if he was very wrong about Aaron overreacting.

(x)

The gifts stopped for a full week once grades were posted, and Aaron thought it was a good thing he never mentioned his gifts to anyone else. It was obviously an overreaction brought on by years of barely contained paranoia. It didn't start that way. Once upon a time he’d been able to separate his life from his job, the evil of men from his every day. Until Foyet, until Peter Lewis. Until evil men marked him for some reason he never really did understand. He'd spent hours, weeks, months agonizing over the why. What did he say or do to make Foyet focus so hard on him? What was it that made Lewis target him? He didn't fit victimology for either of them, not by a long shot, and yet...they'd both managed, in their own ways, to ruin his life.

“Professor?” asked a timid voice from the doorway. He glanced up from the paper he was examining to find a student he didn’t immediately recognize smiling at him. He was good with faces, and she did look somewhat familiar, but he couldn't place her. The insomnia strikes again.

“Yes?”

“I um...I hope this isn't too forward of me to ask, but I was wondering if I could have lunch in your office today? I wanted to talk about getting into your program...”

“Oh, I uh,” he started, at a loss for words. He'd never had lunch with anyone in his office, let alone a student. It felt inappropriate and uncomfortable. “You'll need to talk to an advisor. Admittedly, I don't know much about how that works.”

“Oh. I know. But I kind of just wanted to ask you some questions about the classes and the topics you cover. I took your criminology course last year but I wasn't sure if I wanted to continue with that or move into forensics instead, you know? Do I want to learn how to catch them or clean up after them? Sorry, I'm rambling. Would you mind?”

She was already taking a seat at the chair in front of his desk before he even has a chance to register what was happening. He simply continued staring at her while he tried to switch gears from grading papers to using words. This not sleeping thing was going to be the death of him. It didn't matter as much when he was younger, he could dump gallons of coffee into his system and scrape by. Well, he still drank the coffee but not as much because it gave him heartburn so bad he thought he could breathe fire and he was not willing to live through that pain on purpose anymore. There was a time in his life that the pain was a necessary side effect in order to maintain his top of the food chain status...well now he was low on that food chain and he simply doesn’t need the stomach pain.

“I suppose I could talk for a few minutes. It isn't really appropriate for a student and teacher to eat lunch together like this, but as long as the door remains open, if you have a couple of questions I can try to answer.”

She didn’t seem to mind the rebuff, didn’t seem to register it at all really. Instead she set her lunch on her lap and began unwrapping a sandwich while she rattled off some background and finally a question. And then another. She hardly gave him time to speak, though when he did he found it somewhat easy to come up with what seemed to be a suitable answer to the questions at hand. She seemed pleased at least.

During a lull in conversation, he folded his hands together on the desk and glanced at the clock. He hadn't eaten his own lunch and would pay for that later with a bout of hunger induced heartburn that would probably make him sick, but there wasn’t any time left to do anything about it. He could chew a handful of Tums on the way to his classroom and hope for the best. It wouldn’t be the first time. Getting old came with a lot of new habits his younger self would get a good chuckle over. “If that's all, I really need to get prepared for my next class.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Well, thank you for your time...” she hadn't taken her eyes off of him. It was starting to make him more than a little self-conscious. He was acutely aware of every sound he made, every move of his body. The crack of his knee when he straightened his leg, the way his glasses made the bridge of his nose sweaty, the click of the desk clock punctuating it all like an external heartbeat. He kept his hands still lest she misinterpret something. She didn’t seem to care, though. She left without any fuss, thanking him again for his time and for having lunch with her. She called it a lunch date, and that made him vaguely uncomfortable but it passed quickly. It isn't the first time a student had bombarded him with questions in his office, and if he had tried to connect it with the gifts he might be a little suspicious, but he didn't bother.

The gifts had stopped and the questions seemed genuine. She didn’t come back, either. That fact put him at ease.

Two weeks went by quietly. Without a gift, without a question. Everything seemed to return to normal.

Until a student went missing. The first poster was placed on the bulletin board right outside his office.

Days later, another.

And then came a phone call from Emily. That part was inevitable. Chicago PD knew that he and Derek lived there now and they seemed almost eager these days to have the BAU come in and help them clean up. Probably their way of making something up to Derek, paying the debt they owed to him.

They would be paying that off for a long, long time. It was collecting interest faster than money owed to the IRS.

(2)

“Hotch?”

Spencer's voice carried through the sea of students moving briskly down the hall. It was familiar and slightly jarring, a voice that felt wrong – out of place. There was no way he could find the right mix of words to describe the feeling that voice elicited, the way it felt like coming home though he hadn't even located the source yet. Students moved in waves, in groups usually, laughing and talking or groaning about a strict professor pop quizzing on something they haven't even gone over yet. (“Just because you chose not to come to class on Tuesday does not mean we haven't been over the material,” Aaron has said on more than one occasion. The students seemed mostly unfazed by this statement. He was never really surprised, the memories of his own college years were distant now but he remembered that part. Too many classes, too many hours at his job, too few hours of sleep. Whatever the reason, he can understand it...but it was still his job to throw those quizzes at them anyway.)

Aaron looked around for the source of the voice, scanning the crowd until lighting on Spencer who stood slightly taller than the bulk of the students around him. He was waving a little excitedly. If he was a dog his tail would be wagging. Aaron waved back eagerly, realizing he'd never actually done that before. If he was a dog, he might give his tail a small test wag. To see if he liked it. A first time for everything. Seeing Spencer felt magnetic, he had to move toward him.

A salmon swimming upstream would have had more grace, but Aaron fought his way through the crowd to where Spencer stood in the open doorway of a teacher's lounge anyway. Elbows squeezed at his sides to make his lumbering less noticeable, his hips swerving one way and the next in a sad attempt not to bump into any of the students. He said “excuse me” more times in those few seconds than he had in years.

“Reid, what are you doing here?”

“Oh...um, Emily said she called you.”

Aaron frowned, searching his scattered memory banks for something. Maybe she had. Yes, she had. But what about? His sleep had dwindled to no more than three hours a night, and that three hours was if he was especially lucky. Just a phase like the moon but it sure managed to gobble up his memory storage. Still, he thought he could recall the conversation dimly. Her voice, anyway. Shrill, accusing, sarcastic, sweet. All of them rolled up into one comfortable friend shape. And even if he couldn’t remember exactly what she said (though he knew it was stored in there somewhere), he knew what they were in town for. It was all anyone could talk about.

Two students missing. No bodies yet.

It was all any of the teachers could talk about, and those who were aware of Aaron's previous life found an almost impossible addiction to cornering him. His office ceased to be the sanctuary it had been at one time. The student who never introduced herself was only the first of many, it seemed, who wanted to barge in on him during office hours and utilize his precious free time. And he found it impossible to say no.

There was a time in his life he'd had a scowl that would scare most people away, but not now. Now he was comforting because he knew. He understood. He'd seen it all. Most of it would haunt him forever; you can retire from the BAU but it never leaves you. What he knew, he wished he could erase. It no longer served him...but it served them.

They wanted to be told it was okay, that someone would catch the person responsible before it happened to any other students, that they didn't need to be afraid. He knew far too much for that. He refused to lie, and his refusal to lie was when the police decided they needed help. The people were busting down their doors saying they needed to call in help. Get their children back. Two missing now would multiply if they moved slowly.

When Emily called him, he vaguely remembered telling her he'd been expecting it. The police were in over their heads. He also remembered feeling a little jolt of excitement...he didn't like to admit it, especially to Derek, but he missed it. He missed being useful for more than diaper changes and helping with math homework. True, it was time for him to move on, things had gone too far, he’d been personally targeted by too many serial killers and he had Jack to think about. But if you asked him, if you caught him on a particularly honest sort of day...he would admit that he wasn't ready. He didn’t want a desk job. He didn’t want to teach.

Being forced out stung like regret.

“She did,” he said finally. Certain he'd spoken to Emily about it now, once he'd jumped down the rabbit hole of his scattered memories. “I'm sorry, I've been a little distracted.”

“Yeah,” Spencer added, nodding a little slowly. “I bet. Two students. Do you know them?” Spencer said “do”, not “did” so Aaron figured that was good sign, no bodies yet. It was very little hope but it was something.

“No, I don't. Did the entire team come?”

“Even Garcia. She probably could have done everything she’s doing from Quantico but I think Emily asked her to come because it was a Chicago case. She can't stop talking about the last time we were here and how we still haven't seen your house yet. She misses you. Both of you.”

“Well,” Aaron started a little hesitantly. They didn’t have a large home and the team...well it didn’t matter. They’d come all this way and if they had to cram into their small townhouse then they just would. Part of missing the BAU was missing these people. He wasn’t foolish enough to think it was only the job. “If you've got time when the case is finished, we would love to have you all over.”

“About that. I was actually hoping you might have time to...”

Here it was. Aaron knew it was coming. He was willing to bet that Emily or JJ was at the high school doing the exact same thing to Derek. They were crafty. Divide and conquer. All hands on deck.

Aaron narrowed his eyes, one hand shoved into his pocket while he fingered the worn shape of one of Derek’s challenge coins. He ran his thumb over and around, delighting in the smooth places and the rough places while he waited, trying to give the impression that he hadn't been anticipating this from the moment he laid eyes on Spencer across the hallway.

“Would you have time to come down to the police station later to look at what I'm working on? I could really use someone who knows the school...”

“I'm sorry, Spencer,” Aaron replied, accessing some internal autopilot. He had a script planned out for just such a question, because he knew it was only a matter of time. “Retirement has put a lot of things into perspective for me, and one thing I've learned is how easily I can fall back into old habits if I'm not careful. Leaving the BAU was among the hardest things I've ever done.”

Spencer nodded, crestfallen, though he didn't quite understand. There was something in Aaron's statement that felt like a big fat lie, or like he was desperately grasping at something that was already turning to dust in his hands. He could probably argue with Aaron right now and win without any real effort. His stance felt that shallow, that shaky, but he respected him enough not to.

“Okay,” Spencer replied quietly. Saying no sounded incredibly hard and he could understand that. Aaron had to walk away, and if he looked back now it might destroy the tenuous grip he had on his life. “That's okay. We'll let you know when the case is finished and maybe we can have dinner before we fly out.”

Derek, it turned out, wasn't so firm in his stance.

(3)

“You told them you'd help?”

“JJ came and did 40s with my football players. Told me that she'd beat my best player for an hour of my time. She put my entire varsity team to shame, Aaron. In heels. She was wearing fuckin' heels and she out-sprinted teenage boys. She probably would have outlasted me if I'd let her but I can't have my team seein' that.”

Aaron smirked but said nothing, just flipped the page of the book he was pretending to read in bed. He'd missed most of the last three pages thinking about Spencer asking him for help, and it would have been a lot better if Derek had also said no. Presented a unified front. He couldn’t be angry though. Just a little jealous. It was happening at his school, after all, and he wanted to say yes. Some part of him did anyway.

“Do you think I should help too?”

Derek nuzzled into Aaron's hip and wrapped his thighs up tight, giving them an almost painful squeeze. His anaconda move. It usually meant he wanted Aaron to put his damn book down so they could fool around before going to sleep, to pay attention to him, but Aaron wasn't sure what it meant under these circumstances. Didn't feel like fooling around was the next logical step in this conversation.

Still, it was always on the table.

“I think you gotta make up your own mind on this one.”

Aaron didn't appreciate that answer one bit and he made a little huffing noise to punctuate his dissatisfaction.

“What?”

“You're supposed to tell me I should stay out of it. That I retired for a reason.”

There was something nagging at him already. Something just out of reach. If he could just sleep, get one full night, he thought he could for sure grasp it. There was a connection he was longing to make and he knew it, he was close to it. But not close enough.

“Am I? And then what, you're gonna do it anyway and then we're gonna argue? No thanks. I'll back you up no matter what you decide but I won't tell you what to do.”

“You used to love bossing people around. Arguing with me was your favorite past time.”

“Yeah? I've grown up. You gotta make your own choices now buddy.”

His body made the decision for him a few hours later, while Derek lay basking in the silvery glow of the moonlight fast asleep. They had fooled around, quietly at first, clumsy and quick until the springs on the bed started groaning and then they finished up quickly. That was enough to put Derek to sleep but Aaron remained wide awake until much too late. Staring up at the ceiling, he thought about the students, their photos tacked up on bulletin boards. Have you seen me? Missing! He'd seen them, but those photos were common...often jokes, he'd come to find after taking the first few a little too seriously. Those were the WITSEC days, when he was terrified of his own shadow and the missing posters felt a little too on the nose. Gallows humor. He half expected to walk by one and see his own face or Jack's plastered there with dead eyes.

But these weren't jokes. People were worried. Students clustered together more, stayed after dark less. The library had all but been abandoned. They hadn't enacted a curfew yet but Aaron postulated that it wouldn't be long. There were staff meetings called and student safety agendas passed out to every professor who had a classroom. The phone call from Emily hadn't been a surprise. “We're being called out to Chicago. You've got some missing kids?”

“We do. Doesn't sound like anyone knows much.” He'd been coy even then. He really didn't know anything but he wasn't stupid...he could have if he'd tried. It wasn't his place. He wasn't some retired old cop still looking for a piece of the action, missing the glory days. Besides, he was pretty sure these were his real glory days. He was simply an old man worried about a couple of kids now. A spectator who just so happened to have insider knowledge and a front row seat.

At 1:15am an alert buzzed his phone nearly off of the table as he sat pouring over everything he knew, making notes to at least give to Spencer. He could do that much.

The alert made his blood run cold.

Another student missing. This time he did know the face, he knew it well. Malachai Peterson. He'd taken Aaron's criminology course last year and written an article for the law review that made Aaron and Derek argue for a full hour afterward. All in fun. Well, not all. Mostly. “So who won?” Malachai had asked when Aaron approached him about his article. “And more importantly, who agreed with me? You know...who was right?” Aaron only stared in wonder at this kid who was definitely going places and sighed. It was like looking in a mirror at the little shithead he'd been in school. Admitting that it was Derek who had agreed with the kid's stance, Malachai beamed. “Your partner is smart.”

It wasn't that Malachai was more important than the other two students, it was simply that he couldn't ignore three kids missing no matter how he framed his own need to keep himself separate from the BAU. How could he not help? He would have to be careful about how he approached Jack about it, there were a lot of hard feelings there, but he was certain Jack would see that he really had no choice. Not this time. What if it was one of his friends? The girl he had a crush on maybe?

That certainty waxed and waned for a few hours before he chewed a handful of Tums and decided he had to stop thinking about it. Had to try and get a few hours of sleep.

(4)

“Have there been any bodies yet?” Aaron asked, entering the conference room that they'd set up in the police station at promptly 6am. He hadn't slept a wink. Didn't feel too bad yet, but it would hit him soon. Turn the world to putty and his mind to mush. Luckily, Spencer was waiting with coffees and a grim map of Chicago one one side of the board, a blueprint of the school on the other. Spencer pursed his lips and Aaron sensed his immediate hesitation.

Telling Aaron the truth, that a body had been found, was going to crush him. Spencer was acutely aware of the fact that Aaron had lost some of his walls, had become softer or easier to read and it was obvious that this case was hitting him hard. So hard that whatever stance he’d taken previously about getting involved had only needed one night to completely fall apart.

“One, but it hasn't been identified yet. It's one of the females, probably Melissa because she was the first abduction. The body was...”

Aaron couldn't help flinching and feeling immediately embarrassed by it when Spencer described the state of the student's body. He was out of practice. Or maybe he was too close. Probably both. He simply wasn't the man he used to be, and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

“Is someone at the M.E's office now?”

“Tara and Luke are there.”

“Have you been able to determine any patterns? Any connection?”

“Aside from the fact that they were all students at the same university, not yet. None of them had any real overlap in classes or extracurricular activities...Garcia is looking into their social media and private lives now. It's possible she'll find something that all of them have in common.”

“Do we know when Malachai went missing?”

“That's interesting. No. The parents didn't say anything right away, apparently he had a history of not calling for days at a time, very busy. And they just moved, so their mail is being forwarded...it took an extra day or two. They didn't know anything was wrong until the letter made it.”

“I know him,” Aaron said quietly. “He's one of my best students. A real pain in the ass, but a brilliant mind.”

“Did you notice him missing from class?”

“Actually,” Aaron started, feeling a little sheepish after what he'd just said. “He isn't taking any of my classes this semester. But he does check in frequently, he likes to push my buttons.”

Aaron stared at the blueprints and frowned, sipping the hot coffee in his hand. It was bitter and comforting. There was definitely heartburn in his future but damn it felt good in the moment. Worth the risk.

By the time Emily and Dave showed up, he and Spencer were deep in thought, bouncing ideas off of one another that ultimately went nowhere but it felt good to be on Spencer's wavelength after feeling so dull and so slow for the last couple of weeks. Things were kicking into gear. He allowed himself a moment to mourn this, he’d missed it more than he’d even been willing to admit to himself.

“Who let this old fart in here?” Emily asked with a grin. She looked like she'd slept. He was a little jealous. “Good to see you old man. Sorry you’re missing bingo at the old folk’s home to help out. We’ll get you back in time for the early bird special.”

“Old? You have more gray hair than I do,” he pointed out, standing to hug her. She smacked him in the arm first, and then came in for the hug. Tight and a little too long. She felt guilty that he was there. She hadn't asked him to come, didn't want to involve him. Derek, sure. He could walk away a lot easier, he'd done it on his own...he made that choice because he was ready. Aaron didn't and she knew it. He just got lucky that he found Derek here in Chicago, because if he hadn't...she didn't want to think about the husk of a man she'd have seen walking into Quantico ready to take his office back. A man so desperate to cling to something familiar after being un-tethered so long. She knew the feeling. It hadn't ended well for her.

Without a doubt she wanted to see him. And being that he worked at the university it had made sense to ask him questions, but she didn't mean for him to feel obligated to step back in, let alone take orders from her. His departure weighed heavily on her heart. Still, she forced a smile and let go of the hug to scrutinize the way he seemed to fill out his polo shirt and khakis differently, at the way his hair was long and a little shaggy in places, definitely more salt than pepper at the temples and flecked with sparkly strands that caught the fluorescent light from above eagerly. He had more laugh lines than frown lines, and her guilt somehow weighed heavier on her after that realization.

He was happy and she was ruining it.

“Mine looks better.” It was all she could muster, and she did so halfheartedly. Thankfully, before Aaron could call her out on how hollow her insult sounded, they were interrupted.

“I don't know about that...” Derek's voice chimed in from the doorway as he waggled a box of donuts in the air. Penelope and JJ flanked him with eager smiles. “I think he looks damn fine.”

“Ew. Gross. None of that here.”

“Whatever. You're just jealous, princess. You coulda had all of this...”

“Oh please. Not on your life.”

The team fell back into a familiar pattern of thought, of bouncing ideas off of one another, of sarcastic banter and camaraderie. While the differences were stark and unsettling they also somehow worked. There was some nostalgic whimsy and a clear bond that couldn't be broken by something as common as time passing. When Tara and Luke returned, things kicked up a notch. Derek and Aaron both found themselves wishing they’d had an opportunity to work with this team. This group of minds.

Aaron stood beside Derek naturally, like that was where he’d always belonged. He'd always done that, arms folded over his chest and deep in thought. Derek commanded the attention of the room like it was what he was born to do, all eyes on him. He knew the city inside and out, it was sewn into his very being, and he'd already figured something out.

“This isn't about the kids he's abducted,” he said, saying what they had all been thinking. “They're just tokens. You wanna know what I think? I think they were taken for attention, and then when it wasn't the right kind of attention they started dying. This is for us. I mean, this is for you guys.”

Emily nodded sagely. “I had my suspicions. Things like this usually escalate. I'll bet once we find him, we'll find that he started small. This is about one person, and it'll have started on a very personal level but that went unfulfilled so it gained momentum. Now he won't stop until the object of his desire gives him what he wants.”

“Which is?”

“Attention.”

Aaron felt a trickle of fear in his spine and he glanced at Derek, silent communication. Derek understood it immediately. It all fell into some sort of symmetry. They didn't have all of the pieces yet but his coffee and his chocolates were connected. When Derek opened his mouth to say something, Aaron shook his head adamantly. Not yet. They would push him into staying at the police station, put him in some false version of protective custody, and he thought for sure the kids remaining would die if he disappeared. If this really was about him, he had to continue looking. Had to make things look normal, or worse, look like he wanted to find them. Like the attention was wanted.

“We can't let you two go out into the field,” Emily announced as everyone prepared for their assignments. “You can consult but you're civilians.”

“As civilians, you can't really tell us what we can and can't do...” Derek pointed out with a sneaky smile. She glared at him, not at all joking. He hadn't seen her this serious very many times.

“No, I guess I can't. But I shouldn't need to remind you that you have children who depend on you not to be complete morons. Let us handle the danger.”

(5)

“You have an opinion now,” Aaron said as he ladled soup into bowls for everyone. He splashed some on his hand and hissed in surprise, wiping the broth on the towel nearby. “Are you going to tell me or make me guess?”

Derek, throwing spoons on the table, hummed and Jack smirked. Hank, oblivious to the new tension, slammed his fists on the table and delighted in the way it made the spoons (and Jack) jump. Their house was not quiet.

“You're gonna have to be more specific, I have opinions about a lot of things. Like how you always put barley in this damn soup even though I prefer rice.”

“You've never said anything.”

“Well, because it's not a big deal. Just an opinion. Barley's fine, rice is better.”

“Sure, it's just an opinion and you'll eat the barley but if I knew you had a preference I might make it the way you like. I do enjoy making you happy, you know.”

“You hearin' this guy?” Derek asked Jack with one eyebrow cocked. He knew very well that in this situation, he had an ally in Jack who had been dealing with Aaron's rigid cooking for a lot longer than he had. “You think he'd make it with rice?”

“No way. He'd tell you that it's called beef and barley soup, not beef and rice soup.”

Aaron let out a long, miserable sigh. They weren't wrong, that was the worst part. “What does this have to do with your thoughts about me helping out on this case?” he asked, hauling bowls of steaming hot soup to the table. Derek grabbed the others and followed him out of the kitchen with an exasperated look on his face.

“Look. Do I like it, you getting involved? No. I didn't really think much of it at first cos I figured you were gonna say no but now...I think that place is bad for you. I think you didn't sleep last night because it's already getting its claws back in there and I don't like that. But I know why you showed up this morning, I recognized that kid's name too. I get it. So whatever opinion I have...doesn't matter. I just want you to be smart about it.”

“You think I won't be?”

“I think that you're not as over the BAU as you think you are. And I think that could be dangerous if you're not careful. I think you still miss it and helping is going to make you question your decision, and that worries me...maybe I'm bein' selfish there, but I like the life we've got right now and the BAU doesn't fit into it.”

“You want me to tell them I can't help?”

“No. I'm kinda excited to be fighting crime with you again. But I worry about you, that's all. I know what makes you tick. You miss it and I think that it's dangerous when you tell yourself you don't. If it's a one time thing, it'll be fun. I like this part of us too. Like old times. But what if you can't let it go? What if they get on that jet and head back and take part of you with them? What am I left with?”

“I love our life too, Derek.”

“I know. I'm not sayin' you don't, I'm just sayin' that maybe you miss it more than you let on. You miss the excitement. You got all antsy about some student bribing you with coffee and sweets for a good grade...”

“Okay. Point taken.” He had yet to tell Derek how he’d been feeling about teaching. About the way it made his soul ache for more...of anything. About how walking into that school filled him with a sense of dread long before the students started going missing.

“What ever came of that, huh?” He hated the idea of someone having their eye on Aaron, and it was easier to make light of it than give weight to what they were both thinking now. That it might be connected. That Aaron was the center of the whole thing. That the coffee and chocolates meant something dangerous.

“I said point taken.”

Jack stirred his soup quietly, eyes flickering from one to the other while he waited for an argument. A real argument. Those didn't happen often, and they were usually over before they really got going, but this one had all the makings of a good one. An epic battle for the ages. Even Hank stared wide eyed at them while he mushed soup in his little fists and spread it out over the table in front of him. “Uck spoop,” he said as he smashed little bits of barley into the wood.

To Jack's disappointment, it all but fizzled out there. Either they would talk about it later or it was settled entirely, he wasn't sure. But things went quiet and Aaron yawned and Hank spilled what remained in his bowl into his lap and Derek groaned and took Hank to the bathroom to run a bath.

Dinner as usual.

“How was school?” Aaron asked automatically and Jack groaned this time. He had opinions about Aaron helping the BAU but his opinion, so far, hadn't been asked. He was a little touchy about it and decided not to control his teenage mouth...or the eye roll.

“Fine. School was fine. I've got a lot of homework...can I eat my soup in my bedroom?”

That was that. Aaron was left alone at the table, soup dripping onto the wood floor from one side, his muddy tired thoughts revolving around a photo of Malachai Peterson. He yawned again and glanced at the clock, wondering if it was too early to call it a day and head to bed. He was acutely aware that he was no one's favorite person at the moment.

(5)

Three nights of insomnia and Derek knew as well as Aaron did that this was a bad idea. The problem was, two more students were missing and they weren't any closer to figuring anything out, with or without help. Aaron found himself working in his classroom during the day and staying late in the office to make sure nothing happened. If students were going missing from his school, that was where he could help. He was organizing teachers and administration, trying to create some sense of safety. He would spend a couple of hours at the police station with Spencer and then come home to dinner with his family. Dinner on time one night, late the next.

No one said anything.

To be fair, though, Jack wasn't saying anything to him at all. Not a word. He’d gone radio silence, even to the point that he’d taken all of his meals right to his bedroom and shut the door with a finality that made Aaron’s heart sink. The BAU took his mother, ruined his life, and of course he was upset. Aaron thought about backing out. Saying he’d done what he could and washing his hands of it. Hell, he might even take some vacation time just to be out of the school.

Except he knew he couldn’t do that. Even entertaining the thought seemed silly. He was already in too deep, and furthermore, some latent anxiety told him that he was at the center of it all. Somehow.

In the meantime, he found papers in his office trash can crumpled into balls that hadn't belonged to him. He asked Spencer, discretely, to have them checked for prints without saying why. The last thing he wanted to do was look like a paranoid old man but he was pretty sure they were important. Could have just been from his office mate, but he had his own can – why would he walk to the other side of the office to use Aaron’s can?

(6)

“He stayed at the station late last night,” Emily told Derek over coffee at his desk. His office was a mess of sporting equipment, some broken and needing repair, some signed by famous athletes, really just athletic chaos. There was a net tacked to the ceiling, dangling precariously and filled with various balls – footballs, volleyballs, basketballs, soccer balls. Some nice and new, some with chunks taken out of them or deflated. There were tackle bags and dinged up old weights, baseball bats, hockey sticks, all lending themselves to a general odor of chemical cleaners, dust and sweat. Except his desk, that was pristine. “I think he and Spencer might be onto something though.”

“He's not sleeping,” was Derek's only viable complaint. It was quick. A little flash of anger though it wasn't really directed at anyone in particular. It wasn't like they'd been forced into helping, they made the choice and it had been fun at the start to feel that rush again, to know they were trying to save lives. It was just...they got out. They got away, and their lives were better for it. So much better. And now...he could see it shifting too quickly, spiraling out of control. If this case was solved soon, they might still have a chance. But if it took too long, or if it ended badly, whatever misgivings Aaron was having about his job would manifest in other ways and then they’d be in real trouble. He groaned miserably. “They'd better be onto something.”

If they weren't, if Aaron was just not sleeping with no end in sight, he couldn't imagine how much longer this could be sustainable. He was worried more about their lives than the case. He still had a firm grasp on where he was and what was of value.

“Why didn't you say no?”

“How do we say no to helping people, Em? These are kids disappearing. One of them is a kid we know.”

“Right.” She didn't look convinced. “Have you heard from him today?”

“He said Spencer was going to meet him at his office...”

“Nerds.” She just wanted to lighten the mood. Judging by haunted the look in Derek’s eye, it hadn’t worked.

“Hey, did he tell you about the coffee? And the chocolates?” He knew he shouldn’t be bringing that up, it went against every discussion the two of them had had recently but maybe it was time.

“What are you talking about?”

“A couple weeks before you guys got here, he found a coffee in his classroom. Someone had left it for him. He didn’t drink it…”

“Of course. It’s Hotch.”

“Right. Well then a little later he found a box of chocolates on his desk. They both were addressed to “A”, so we assumed Aaron but...I guess it could also be the person signing their own name.”

“He didn’t eat those either.”

“No. He threw them away. I told him he was probably overreacting, drawing connections when there weren’t any but I’m not so sure about that now…”

“Was this before the first abduction?”

“Yes.”

“Shit. If you’re right then he’s the center of it. Try calling him.”

Derek was already on it. His stomach was twisting in knots, tighter and tighter with each unanswered ring.

(x)

Spencer had a lot of ideas about what Aaron’s office might look like. At first he thought maybe it would look just like his office at Quantico, a smattering of achievements, well-loved and used books, some photos or relics from Jack’s childhood, maybe a vacation photo of he and Derek...but it was bare. There was nothing in it but books and files that related directly to his coursework. Aaron noted Spencer’s disapproval and shrugged.

“I started working here during WITSEC. No personal effects. I just got used to it.”

Spencer nodded. “I understand.” It looked like Aaron carried his own personal prison around with him in the same way Spencer did. It looked different but it wasn’t really, not when you whittled it down to the core. “What did you want to show me?”

Aaron reached beneath his desk and grabbed a small wastebasket with a tiny box of chocolates inside. The thing was still wrapped in plastic, in the same condition it was bought in. “This. It was left on my desk just before the disappearances. I threw it in this wastebasket so whoever gave it to me wouldn’t be offended, but it was un-signed and I - “

Before he could continue, a face appeared in the doorway. It was the student who joined him for lunch uninvited. “Professor H,” she began, eyes suddenly flashing a nervous energy as they flickered from Aaron to Spencer to the chocolates. “You didn’t like them?”

He stared, dumbfounded for a moment and then it all clicked. Quickly, he tried to save what there was to save, to keep he and Spencer out of trouble. “The thought was sweet, I do appreciate them. I just don’t eat food given to me unless I know the source. We had a few frightening run-ins with…”

“Cannibals,” Spencer said, following Aaron’s lead. He’d already managed to slip his hand into his pocket to speed dial Emily. “We had this case where a guy fed one of his victims to a search party. The people out searching for her. I haven’t eaten chili since, have you Hotch?”

“Not once.”

The student stared at them with her mouth open for a beat too long before forcing a too-wide smile. “I see.” She was blocking the doorway with her body, standing in such a way that they had no real way to get a handle on the situation. Aaron was armed, but it was his ankle holster only...Emily had forbidden he and Derek to go into the field, and if she’d seen him packing, she would have flipped her lid. As it was she probably knew he was wearing this but let it slide.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name when we ate together the other day,” Aaron said, smiling as soft as he could manage. “I was mentioning your interest to a colleague and realized how rude of me not to ask.”

She beamed at that and hugged her bag close to her chest. “Ashby. Ashby Hastings.” Aaron nodded.

“I’ll remember that when I see her next.”

“No you won’t. You’ll forget like everyone else.”

There it was. Spencer’s blood ran cold and he wanted to glance over at Aaron, an instinct to look to him for guidance...except he stopped himself abruptly because he was the FBI Agent with the gun slung around his waist and Aaron was, for all intents and purposes, a victim. God that felt weird to think. And this student in front of him, small and benign as she looked with her mousy brown hair and her big doe eyes was a murderer.

“Ashby,” Spencer said, approaching cautiously. “Professor Hotchner and I need to get going, we have a meeting we can’t miss. It was very nice to meet you.”

She shook her head in an oddly twitchy fashion, like she was arguing with herself, and reached into her bag. In her hand was a gun, now aimed at Spencer.

“You can’t take him from me. Everyone keeps trying to get in our way. I just…”

“It’s okay, Ashby. Where do you want to go?” Aaron stepped around the desk, his hands raised slightly from his sides to show they were empty.

She startled at that, switching the gun from Spencer to Aaron and back again. “I have something to show you. In the photo lab.”

“Where is that?” Spencer asked, though he already knew. He’d studied the blueprints of the entire school. The photo lab was in the basement. She was going to try to get Aaron into the basement.

“You don’t need to come. You can go to your important little meeting.” She moved out of the way, motioning for him to pass by her with her gun. He frowned at the gesture and thought briefly about what the best course of action would be. Leave and get help right away? He knew where she was taking Aaron. But he didn’t want to let Aaron out of his sight. Who knows what her plan was once she had him alone. Stalker cases never ended well, and if anyone knew that, it was Aaron. He’d play along as long as he could but eventually he would upset her, do something to ruin the fantasy and then he’d end up dead. When he chanced a look at Aaron, he understood -

“Tell Emily I’m sorry,” Aaron said as he walked out of the office beside Ashby and her gun. Spencer waited until they were nearly out of sight before he grabbed his gun and followed.

(7)

The sound of Aaron's body hitting the ground was sudden and shocking. It could just as easily have been the unsub or it could have been Spencer, but somehow Derek knew it wasn't. He knew it in his bones.

“Dammit,” he groaned, his heart skipping more than one beat. It nearly stopped, along with his breath as he followed behind Luke and JJ. “No going in the field” Emily had warned, had repeated many times, but she couldn't stop him. Not when he knew Aaron was down those stairs in the dark with the unsub, how and why he couldn't fathom except that every fear he'd had came true. He knew Aaron would get in too deep. He'd catch a break, he and Spencer would crack it wide open, and then the two of them would put themselves into a situation they didn't want to be in. Couldn’t get out of.

The problem was, they didn't mean to.

“What happened?” Derek hissed, approaching cautiously with his flashlight poised ahead of him. Afraid to point it right at Aaron, he captured Spencer in the beam. He was hovering over Aaron's limp form, his hands flying fast over his body, searching for wounds beneath folds of soft fabric and tufts of hair. There hadn't been a gunshot but there was blood. Enough to be scary.

“She went that way!” Spencer shouted angrily at them, cursing them for stopping when he was already there. One set of hands was plenty and of all people he did not want Derek hovering over him. Not now. “Emily and Tara are following her. Go, go!”

“We need a medic!” Rossi shouted into his comm, dropping down beside Aaron and Spencer. Derek followed Luke and JJ down the corridor, there wasn't anything he could do for Aaron that Spencer and Rossi couldn't. What he could do was get the damn unsub and end this.

Of course nothing was ever quite that simple. There was a mass of confusion, of loud gunshots flashing in the dark, bullets connecting with metal, boilers hissing steam and voices calling out for an end to the shootout. They were going to destroy the school at this rate.

“You're surrounded, Ashby! There's nowhere to go!”

“You kill me, you never find those other kids...”

Emily glanced at Derek in the dark, a desperate and fearful look. Kids? Two more bodies had been found so far, she should only have one by their count, just Malachai, he was the only one she had kept even after more went missing. She was playing her trump card.

“We don't want to hurt you, Ashby,” Aaron said in a weak, hollow voice. A. She wasn't writing A for Aaron, she was writing A for Ashby. That thought had been circling his mind since the moment he saw her face. She’d signed her name and if he’d only been more with it, been awake instead of riding the waves of insomnia, he would have asked her name. He would have put it together. When Garcia sent her information over to Emily at the precinct, Derek’s heart sank. He knew. “Reid just sent me an SOS. I think they have her. We need to move fast.” One quick search through her laptop led to photos of Derek, of Jack, of Hank. Aaron’s press conferences from years before, papers he'd written, everything. Even information about Savannah overseas. Her entire hard drive was devoted to Aaron Hotchner and his life. She had even followed him home, followed his son to school, his partner to work...she knew everything about him.

But he wasn't afraid of her. She didn't seem to want to harm him at all, she just wanted him to notice her. He could do that. Or so he hoped, because in the condition he was currently in...he might not have much time to get the job done. The world swam in a sea of muted black and gray, swirling like an angry whirlpool. He was doing everything in his power not to be sick.

There was no way he could sit up on his own, let alone walk. He was being helped down the hallway, draped over Spencer and Rossi's shoulders, blood running into his eyes from a wound on his scalp. He needed medical attention fast, but he also knew he was the only one who could talk to her. She wouldn't listen to anyone else, she'd done all of this for him. It was one big love letter.

“They were your favorite chocolates!” she cried out into the darkness. “The ones with the gooey mint inside. You didn’t even look. You just tossed them in the trash.”

“I’m sorry, Ashby,” he said quietly, though it came out in more of a jumble than he’d hoped. She laughed at that and he decided it was in his best interest to stay quiet. She was building up to something.

His getting involved was by design. All of this was. When he scorned her gifts, she made sure the BAU came, knowing he couldn't say no. The coffee and chocolate had been a mistake, she knew that now. He wouldn't accept gifts of food from a stranger, that made sense. It had hurt at first but she forgave him. But the disappearances, well they were the perfect. He couldn't not help. It was all just bait and he took it. He’d never felt more like a silly old man.

“Do you like it? This was all for you. You won't even give me a chance. Our lunch date meant so much to me, the way you looked at me and talked to me...but then you ignored me. I had to get all of these people out here just for you to pay attention.”

“I know that you feel like an outcast. That these students mocked you, and that you've been keeping score. I know that Melissa and Tamika made fun of you in the showers, and they told you that a man like me would never see anything interesting in someone like you. I know that Shelly told you I only liked men and that you were being ridiculous. And I know that Malachai stood you up for a date...” Aaron was speaking between pained breaths, it came out slow and almost slurred in places. His arms being raised pulled at the angry, splintering pain of his broken ribs. Derek was afraid for him, but he kept his gun trained on the unsub as he listened to his partner try to grasp at the deep roots of his crisis negotiation knowledge. He would let Aaron try this tactic, try talking, but he wasn’t planning to let it go on too long.

Any move at all and he was shooting. He was not fucking around.

“Malachai thinks he's so smart,” Ashby said, and in the flare of the flashlight on her face Derek could see tears and the flash of the gun. She had it to her own head now. “And so do you. You just think he's so great.”

“He is smart,” Aaron whispered, hissing when Spencer moved against his side. His ribs flared pure white hot pain, and there was a nagging pull in his hip that felt like fire. “But so are you. I read your article on BTK in the school newspaper. Your analysis was...” his eyes closed for a moment and he almost gave in. His vision was swimming, going from black to gray, spotted with flashing lights. The pain in his head was almost overwhelming. “I'm sorry. My head hurts quite a lot, Ashby. Your analysis of BTK was fascinating. You um...” he sucked in a ragged breath. “You asked me questions about switching programs. If you haven't made up your mind yet, you're surrounded by the best team of profilers the FBI has, and I'm sure they'd love to talk to you. If you could just...” Aaron went limp mid-sentence, unable to hold on any longer. The pain in his head was shredding his conscious. Rossi quickly pushed him over entirely onto Spencer so he could get his own gun. Things were going to happen fast if he wasn't able to continue.

Spencer wrapped his arms around Aaron, holding his entire body up as long as he could.

“Just what?” Ashby asked, her voice thick with tears. “I just love you so much. Don't you see that? Don't you see how good I could be for you? You need someone to take care of you. Who appreciates you.”

Derek scowled and primed his trigger finger, feeling slighted by the attack. As if he wasn’t a good partner. As if he wasn’t everything Aaron needed and more. As if their relationship was trivial and meaningless.

“Agent Hotchner isn't able to speak right now. You hurt him very badly. We need to get him to a hospital...would you put down your weapon and come with us?” Rossi didn't even flinch, didn't hesitate when he called Aaron Agent, and Ashby frowned.

“You mean Professor Hotchner. He's retired. He's finished with you.”

“Right. I'm sorry, just a force of habit. I've known him for many years.”

“Let me see him.”

“No. He's hurt. Ashby, you need to put the weapon down.”

It didn't take long before she decided she was being lied to, that they were concealing something under the shroud of dark. That something about Rossi didn't sit well, that Aaron was being kept from her on purpose. That he was simply pretending to be hurt so she would listen to them and do as they said. Just hiding from her.

Or maybe dead, and if he was dead then she had nothing left. All of this was for nothing. That thought did her in, and soon after the bullets were flying again madly into the darkness. She didn't really intend to kill anyone, she had her eyes closed. She really just wanted them to kill her. If Aaron was gone she had nothing left.

Derek felt a bullet graze his arm, slicing hot fire through his skin like a molten knife. He did not miss this part of it. This bullshit. He really fucking hated being shot at, and he hated actually getting hit even more.

“Spencer,” Aaron whispered, grappling with consciousness. The sound of Derek crying out that he'd been hit stirred something in him that had been dormant a long time now. He could feel it vibrating in him. “My gun...”

“No way. Morgan will kill me.”

“Spencer...now.”

He managed to grab his ankle holster, his familiar friend, and in the madness he could somehow make out Ashby's face flickering in the flashlights and gunfire. His vision was red, eyelashes sticky with blood, but his sight...he knew he would hit her. He had the only vantage point that was a sure success, no tanks or other pieces of large equipment in the way. Some feeling, a strange icy feeling, flowed from his shoulder to his fingers and he knew...

Bullets were flying, she was going to hit one of them soon. He could hear Derek's voice, mad as a damn hornet, and he knew that for now Derek was okay. Hurt, yes, but not dying. Not yet. He had to do it now or she was going to kill someone. If he hesitated. And that someone might be Derek...his righteous anger coursed through him.

He aimed his sight right between her eyes and clicked down just a notch, just enough to put her down without killing her. He didn't want to kill her, he felt sad for her. He felt guilty for whatever he'd done to make her feel this way. But he was also angry that this entire situation was happening at all. She fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, a heavy thud, blood seeping out of a wound in her shoulder. She didn't try to get back up, didn't even try to move. She just cried.

“Is he dead?” she asked at the sound of the gun being kicked out of the way of her hand. “Is Aaron dead?”

“No. He shot you.” JJ's voice, stern and uncharacteristically cold, rang clear through the new unsettled silence. He could hear Ashby laugh, then, and it sent a chill down his spine. Laughing and crying.

“But he didn't kill me...” she sang quietly, smiling. “He must love me. He didn't kill me.”

“I will if you don't shut the fuck up,” Derek spat, walking past her with his hand covering the wound on his arm. Blood pooled between his fingers and the feel of it just made him angrier. He wasn't an FBI Agent and he sure as shit didn't have to watch himself anymore. This was fucked up and he was pissed. No, he wasn't going to shoot her, he had no desire to go to prison himself but he'd be damned if he was going to sit there while she spouted off about how much Aaron must love her if he had the shot and didn't take it.

Meanwhile, Aaron lay slumped against Spencer, the smell of gunpowder fresh in his nostrils. “...'m gonna be sick...” he mumbled seconds before emptying the contents of his stomach all over the ground where Spencer had been moments before. His reflexes were just sharp enough to save him from that. Derek rushed to where Aaron was, sat down beside him while he tried to get the sick feeling to pass, and frowned.

“What'd you have to go and chase this chick for huh? You couldn't wait?”

“Didn't chase her. She would...she was going to kill Malachai...did you get him? Is he safe?”

“Yeah, man. We got him, he was in the closet in the photo lab. He's with Tara now. What the hell happened? You said you wanted to show Reid something and next thing I know you're unconscious at the bottom of a stairwell...”

“I showed Reid the chocolates...my office...she walked in...it’s the student I had lunch with, Derek. The coffee...the chocolates...she wanted to...to show me something down here…” Malachai, he thought. She was going to show him what she’d done to Malachai. He gagged painfully again, this time a strangled sob escaped along with it. His chest hurt so bad. It had been a long time since he'd had a head injury that made him sick. “She let Reid go, but he followed us. When she went after him, they were near the stairwell. I got her off of him, and she threw me down the stairs. She didn't mean to hurt me...said she was sorry before she ran...she said she loved me...I didn't even know her name until today and she said she loved me...” He wasn't crying, exactly, but he was damn close. This was too much, it was just too fucking much. What was it about him that made people behave this way? Foyet? Peter Lewis? Now this?

“Looks like we need to start up our hand-to-hand training again huh?” Derek asked, keeping his voice as casual and light as he could. He pulled Aaron close to him. Just having him close right now was all he really wanted. The sound of his body hitting the ground, the silence that followed, it made him feel hollow inside. “You need a refresher course.”

They wheeled Ashby out on a stretcher and she stared at them sitting on the floor waiting their turn, at Derek holding Aaron there by his side. The sight of her made him angry all over again. But he won, he was the one who got to hold Aaron. Who got to take him home and kiss him and love him. It was childish of him to be angry like this, the girl had serious problems and he did feel for her...but she’d nearly taken something from him. Something big. She’d been stalking his family, prepared to go to great lengths. She had pictures of his toddler on her laptop, pictures of Jack who had already lost one parent to violence. He wasn’t sure he wanted to share any of that with Aaron, it might be better that he didn’t know.

Aaron didn't seem to notice her passing at all, he just let his miserable head rest against Derek's shoulder. His t-shirt was cool against Aaron's too hot cheek. It would be fine if he just...closed his eyes...for a minute...

(8)

“A concussion, two broken ribs, stitches in your scalp and a pretty badly bruised up hip. You're a complete shit show, you know that?” Derek said every word with love and exhaustion competing for top spot. He thought they were past all of this, but he had to admit...it was about one million times better sitting side by side like this, knowing they would go home and lick their wounds together. Sleep in the same bed, care for each other. No one was going home alone. That was a far cry from the old days.

They both had enough sick leave stored up to take real time away from work. To heal. Hell, the university was practically throwing sick leave at Aaron to make sure he was placated. Didn’t find a reason to pursue legal action...he wasn’t even thinking about it, though. But he’d take the time off.

And they would both have to tell Jack what happened. Do that walk of shame. He was already upset, this was just going to make it unbearable. Maybe they’d take a trip, go hole up at the lake cabin for a few weeks, repair things with some quiet quality time in the woods.

“You're not so hot yourself. You have twelve stitches. That tattoo's never going to be the same.”

Derek was a little upset about that. About the bullet ripping right through his ink, but he had been thinking about a new tattoo and maybe this was the reason to do it. Have it fixed, changed to meet where he was in life now. Who he was. In the meantime, his arm hurt like a bitch. They’d stuffed it into a sling for him and while he usually ripped them right back off, this time...he was going to leave it. The way it took the pressure off eased the pain some.

“You remember what Spencer was saying a few weeks ago? About one of us getting hurt and not having rights in the hospital?”

“Me. He said me, Derek. But yes I recall the discussion.”

“Guess he wasn't so far off, huh?”

It hadn't been easy, getting in there. They had to wait in separate triage rooms, sign papers, call him the emergency contact in the interim just to move things along. It was a little insulting having their entire relationship relegated to the emergency contact line of an intake form.

“I suppose not. At least we were both conscious when we came in. It could have been a lot worse.”

“Yeah. Might not be so fortunate next time. So...I was thinking...you wanna hitch your cart to this wagon officially? Bet we could find a chaplain around here somewhere and...”

“I do want to marry you, Derek. But not in a hospital with a splitting headache and stitches in my head. Can we wait a couple of weeks?”

“I've already been waiting a lifetime, what's another couple weeks huh?”

Aaron laughed and groaned with tears in his eyes, one palm pressing into his aching side. “Don't make me laugh. Please.”

“Right. Sorry.” Derek put his arm around Aaron and rested his head against Aaron's temple. “You know, it’s pretty cool. I'm basically getting married to Indiana Jones. College professor who likes to throw down a little action montage in his spare time. You haven't lost anything in your old age, even if you do eat Tums with your coffee and think I don’t see it.”

“Derek…” Aaron began, ready to tell him he was having second thoughts about the whole school thing. About teaching. Derek seemed to know without him saying a word.

“Okay okay. Let's go home, the team is coming over for dinner tonight and I'd like to get a few hours of sleep before they take over our house. We’ll talk about the future career path of Aaron Hotchner afterward...”

It was 3am. The last time they'd seen 3am like this...well they couldn't remember. They were beat. Aaron thought he might even be able to get more than three hours of sleep.

(x)

The noise level in their small house was almost deafening, and Aaron was for once glad that the hearing in his right ear was slowly giving out. He was propped up on the couch with ice on his hip (and his head) while Derek and Jack ushered anyone who wanted it around for the grand tour. There wasn't much to it, the house wasn't large. It was the perfect size, old woodwork, simple neutral design, Aaron's damn boats. The kids' rooms had more personality than anywhere else except the backyard which was a sight to behold. Derek had built boxes and boxes while Aaron filled them with dirt and plants and life. They had a hammock that stretched between two old maple trees that would blanket their yard in gold to be raked up once autumn hit.

“Your house is nice,” Emily said, plopping down on the couch beside Aaron. He let out a little whimper at the jarring movement and nodded.

“It is.”

“I don't know what I pictured, really...but this isn't it. It's so...”

“Normal?”

“Yeah. Normal. You and your fucking boats...what's with that anyway?” She was staring at a painting of an old boat hull over the mantle. Gray and brown wood set against shocking green water and huge evergreens. He followed her gaze and smiled.

“My grandfather painted that. He had a cabin on a lake in northern Idaho, and there's this boat that was sunk there. The Tyee II. You can still see the hull today, it's sunk in this little bay. It was the last wood-burning tugboat on the lake, hauling logs to the Diamond Matchstick Company. He sat on the beach and painted this right after my grandmother told him she was pregnant with my father and wanted to move back to Virginia to be closer to her family. When I lived in Seattle, Haley and I took a trip over to that lake. We stayed in a gorgeous resort and managed to find our way up the eastern side of the lake all the way to the wreckage of this boat...it looks almost the same now, a little worse for the wear but preserved shockingly well. On the mantle, there's a framed photo of Haley in the water beside the boat as it was when we went.”

“Okay, warn me next time you're going to give me a history lesson...” she smirked, tossing back the rest of the blood red wine in her glass. “I'm kidding. That's amazing. Sometimes I wonder why I decided not to have roots like this. But then I look at Derek's face yesterday when he saw you on the ground and I know...I can't do that.”

“You could.”

“I don't want to.”

“That's fine. You don't have to.” He let out a small sigh and leaned to the side, resting heavy against her. He was too tired to support himself any longer. Everything hurt. “I saw the way you looked at me yesterday.”

“Yeah. Don't you ever...ever do anything stupid like that again. I have Luke and Matt to break down doors and make stupid fucking decisions now, I don't need you and Morgan adding to my troubles. God. Seriously, Hotch. Tell Emily I’m sorry?! What were you thinking?!”

“Where is Matt?”

“Oh, he's on leave, his wife just had another kid. They have so many, like probably a whole sports team...all adorable. With him out, I thought I was in the clear...wasn't going to have anyone trying to get themselves killed for a while...”

Aaron smiled. “There's nowhere to add any more gray hairs, you’re all full up.”

“Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuuck you asshole. You retire and move in with someone you love and you think you suddenly have jokes?” She didn't move though, not even when he started to feel heavy. Not even when she wanted more wine but his head was on her shoulder and she could feel his shallow, pained breaths starting to slow and even out. She just managed to flag down Tara who refilled her glass for her, offering a sweet little wink for her trouble. “You know, you guys could consult for us sometimes. No field work, for the love...no field work. But you could consult, if you wanted to. Having you two doing some of the thinking really helped us out. You saved that kid.”

“The team saved him,” Aaron corrected, his eyes drifting shut. “He would never have been in trouble...you never would have been there if not for me. It was all my fault.” His head hurt so bad, he just wanted to sleep. Not allowed to watch television or even read, not allowed to do much of anything but live life as a fixture on the couch for a few days...he didn't miss this. Not even a little. He could hear Jack in the kitchen telling Tara about him being little and knowing that his dad got hurt by whatever meal they had when he got home. If he was okay, they would cook. If he wasn't, it was hot dogs or canned soup. Something that required minimal effort, minimal time, minimal standing. Or Jessica would stay and cook them something, but he didn't like that as much because hurt dad didn't bother forcing him to eat vegetables the way aunt Jess did.

He peered into the swirling house, a sea of people in shapes and colors and sizes that confused his rattled brain and smiled. This house had seen its fair share of gatherings with Derek's family, or co-workers, Jack's friends, preschoolers for Hank's birthday...but it was a strange comfort having this particular group of people all under their roof. Luke and Spencer were standing and admiring the Tyee painting over the fireplace with their hands locked together (while Luke asked Spencer if he knew about all of Aaron's marksmanship awards and wondering if he could talk Derek into some hand to hand time just to see if he could take him), JJ and Tara were entertaining Jack in the kitchen, Penelope hadn't put Hank down the entire time she'd been in the house. She was glued to him, and he was thrilled to have someone to babble to about everything he loved. Aaron was a little worried she might try to stuff him in her purse when it came time to leave. He was pretty attached to the little guy. Derek and Dave were out back smoking cigars while Derek asked him for landscaping advice he didn't really need, he just liked to listen to Dave talk. He missed that. Dave had landscapers and groundskeepers who did the work for him, but he was the one who spent all the time dreaming up his spaces. He lived for entertaining, for filling his home with people he loved, and Derek thought now he understood exactly why. Their home never felt lonely, and it was rarely quiet, but this was a special kind of alive that he didn’t realize he was missing. These old friendships, they were missed.

“We're going to get married, you know.” Aaron whispered it, already half asleep, through barely parted lips. Emily nodded and hummed. “Soon. You'll come back for that won't you?”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world." She paused, licking her lips and glancing around the room at all of these people she loved who seemed so at home in this place they'd never been. Home wasn't a place, it was people, she'd come to learn that the hard way. "Are you happy, Hotch? Even after all of this? You’re really really happy with this life?” She couldn’t shake it, that guilty feeling that in the morning they’d all go back to Virginia and she’d return to her office that used to be his office. Her desk that was his desk. She needed to hear him say he wanted it this way. He would choose this way again and again. She needed it like she needed air.

“Mmm,” he hummed, nodding. “Yes. I am. Stop worrying. Let me sleep."

[moonstandardtime]

hunter toh in my botw au.....oh i could go on and on abt this au. i think ill do lumity next?

feel free to ask question abt the au. please do actually. to get you started heres some base info under the cut. its VERY ramble-y.

base character matchups are Luz as Zelda, Hunter as Link, and Belos as Ganon. this au doesnt involve much from TotK bc i havent finished it but. given the story it will definitely come into play!

basic story/plot/exposition is that 10,000 years ago, the sheikah Made a Hero for the future. just in case. extra safety measure or whatever. they saw how difficult it was to overcome the calamity and were like, hey, what if we made the ideal hero for future hyrule? make it easier. and so they do. they Make a Guy (caleb is the first hero (yknow the one in the hyrule historia manga bit) so his bones arent available to use for a grimwalker. so idk if hunter is a grimwalker of the 10k hero or if hes made entirely independently bc the sheikah. probably could do that) and stick him in the shrine of resurrection. this is the true purpose of the SoR: its really more of a shrine of stasis, to keep this manmade hero alive till hes needed. think cryogenic stasis or whatever.

so. hunter sleeps in the SoR for 10,000 years. has an awful time. one of the first (maybe The first) fic i read on ao3 was about what the SoR was like for botw link and it. stuck with me. so now i incorporate it into everything i make for botw if possible. anyways he has a miserable time, which is important because he had this miserable time for 10,000 years instead of just 100. Anyways. like botw link, he loses his memories. unlike botw link, they are inaccessible. period. there is no remembering Shit. besides like. vague vibes that he was instilled with. turns out if you make a person and tell them for their entire short existence that theyre made for a thing, then even if they forget everything else they Will still remember that theyre made for a thing. even if they dont really. so yeah all hunter knows is that he is not a person, that he exists for a Reason, and how to breathe. and other basic bodily functions. hes basically a big baby with a hero complex.

the rest of the au takes place "pre-calamity". i have a vague idea on how the actual calamity takes place (and how to make it similar to botw w/out so much death bc i have thought Very Much about this specific time period and not whatever the hell would be going on a century later. lmao.)

so. when the SoR is Discovered by sheikah researchers everyone is Very Surprised at the Whole Human Boy inside. because well. that should not be possible. this thing was difficult as hell to get into and also there was quite a bit of rock in the way! so they assume him to be dead and just miraculously preserved by the SoR fluid. And then he wakes up screaming (imagine being in the most agonizing sensory deprivation tank ever for 10,000 years and then abruptly being exposed to the world again. not fun!) and everyone is like OH SHIT ITS ALIVE.

eventually they get him out and not having the worst overstimulation meltdown in the history of all time and space and get back to hashtag Researching. some ppl focus on him (taking care of him (like i said. big baby with a hero complex), figuring out what the hell is up with him, etc) and others continue examining the SoR. the ppl with hunter make very little progress. because just bc hes not having the worst overstimulation meltdown in the history of all time and space, it doesnt mean he has a clue whats going on at all. or that hes not still having one of the worst overstimulation meltdowns in the history of all time and space. the ppl at the SoR, however, find a plaque with his name and vague purpose for existing, as well as the sheikah slate. yippee!!!

after all this, once hes less. of a big baby with a hero complex ig. we move to more character-focused stuff than exposition. so ill end this here for now. if you read all this you are very invited to talk to me abt this! i would love that! a good place to start i think would be with explaining characters. most of the important characters in the show are in this au. and i do mean most. there is quite a lot going on

[twig-tea]

Ohhhhh @neuroticbookworm you've touched on one of my livewires. It is infuriating how romanticized poverty is in romance stories and how much of the 'romance' between a rich and poor person is often just 'they can get me out of this situation that is otherwise literally inescapable'. So many romantic endings sit so poorly with me because the power imbalance was never addressed so the relationship is left feeling slightly transactional/dependent. And so, so often the consequences of as you rightly said inevitable bad decisions fall on the poor(er) person in the relationship and it is infuriating.

I have to admit what you described at the end is not appealing to me either, tbh. Reminds me too much of Boys Over Flowers. There was some of the dynamic you described in Oh My Sunshine Night between the bodyguard/elder brother side dish, in case you're interested!

I feel like they also tried to do what you described in What Zabb Man but they didn't really understand the power dynamics well enough and it ended up just infuriating me more lol this is the real reason why I can't connect to that show; That ending makes me want to scream.

The thing is, I am not interested in watching people who are struggling because they are poor turn away moments of happiness or easing of their situation just because it's somehow morally superior either. That implies that it's morally superior to turn down money or privilege and, ok, maybe, but then why isn't that standard being applied to the rich person too? If anything, it should be more amoral to hold on to absurd amounts of wealth than to appreciate a moment's rest from unfair circumstantial strain, but that's not how morality in shows tends to go. Turning down romantic gestures over and over is also exhausting, and adding to their strain. And while I sympathize with the sentiment, don't like the idea of a character in poverty being used to teach a rich person a lesson about their own insipidness.

I also really struggle with rich characters unintentionally setting their poor romantic interest up to fail being treated as romantic by the plot. The thing is, this is realistic. My brother dated a princess once (and I mean that literally--long story) and she was fascinating but dangerous because she did not understand the value of money at all (her words, not mine), and her carelessness hurt people including my brother. She left my brother $10k in debt, and not because she couldn't cover it but because she didn't realize it would be a problem for her not to. She convinced him to move in with her into an apartment way over what he could afford (his half of the rent was his whole salary at the time), and they put both their names on the lease. When she then left him with almost no warning (not entirely her fault--again, long story), she told the landlord "sell the stuff in the apartment to cover the remaining rent due" and the landlord said "lol no" and charged my brother for the broken lease; Because of course he did. Luckily my brother had a safety net in my mom, but he had just graduated from university and was working a call center job, and still had a student loan at the time, and my father had just gone through bankruptcy. It could have ruined his future or significantly made his life miserable if my parents had been just a little less well off to start with.

This is one of the things I appreciated about My School President; Tinn was so careful to make sure the times he did use his money to help were not actually visible (though that wasn't necessarily his motivation), so that there would be no debt or dependency. And he never dismissed Gun's concerns about his responsibility to his mother, but instead tried to help him find a way to support her while continuing with his dream (and without making Gun dependent on him while doing it). But they were still in high school and the stakes were lower than in some of these other shows; Gun still had a safety net though it was threatened in show; and Tinn understood its importance and helped him maintain it. He never threatened Gun's shop or career, even for what he thought was romance.

This is more of what I want to see; stories where the more rich romantic interest understands the concerns of the person he's in love with, puts in effort to help them improve their situation if they ask and in a way that does not leave the poorer character vulnerable or dependent.

But frankly, any rich/poor romance story that ends with both of them in a million-dollar condo is going to be unsatisfying for me, because a happy ending where there are still really rich people (even if one of them used to be poor) is no happy ending in the true depths of my heart. But it's unreasonable to expect romances to fix capitalism and class stratification, I suppose lol

[As always: I don't actually judge anyone for not having the exact same moral stance as I do, I'm sharing my opinions here for interest rather than to shame or judge anyone for feeling differently! I'm glad people get enjoyment out of the shows I don't, and I will fully agree with anyone who thinks some of my reasons for liking or not liking something are unreasonable.]

While I've reluctantly accepted that Sand's characterization as a pathetic simp in Only Friends (@lurkingshan) is a deliberate framing by Jojo and team to let the narrative punish him for his obsession, I also can't shake the feeling that a lot of these shows we enjoy simply don't take poverty as seriously as it should be. @bengiyo spoke on how Dangerous Romance is only using Sailom's poverty issues as a flavoring for Kanghan, the resident rich boy. The implication is always the same: how these characters are so tired of life that they want an escape, a fantasy where they can forget their troubles for a short time.

What these shows don't seem to understand is that poor people often can't afford an escape. The debt will always be due on collection day. Their future will always be uncertain. And more importantly: they often won't have the financial and/or interpersonal safety nets to catch them when they fuck up. Which is bound to happen, one way or another, when you hang around rich boys who wants to rebel and blow their father's money.

Which is why I want a show to give us a poor boy who can't shake a pathetic rich simp. Someone who can't get enough of him, no matter how many times he gets kicked down. And in the process of writing these characters, I want the industry to actually learn a thing or two about the folks who have no absolutely no time or energy for the insipid, shallow and meaningless gestures of rich casanovas trying to woo them.

[wkemeup]

Graveyard

summary: As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too.  pairing: bucky x healer!reader word count: 10k warnings: canon level violence

As a child, you were told it was a gift; placed upon a pedestal above the quaint suffering of a rural town and removed of your innocence for the good of strangers. You’d been made to be revered – honored – for the touch that could mend the broken.  

It began with a cut upon your father’s finger – a slip of a kitchen knife that had left a small bead of blood in its wake. Curious eyes glanced up at your father as he hissed at the sting of it and you’d reach forward to place your infant hand upon the cut, a grip so mall it barely wrapped around his finger. He stilled as a soft glow began to emit from your palm. When you removed your hand and began to cry, your father was stunned to find his skin perfectly intact – no trace of a scar in its place.  

They told you it was a gift, celebrated you as if you were a blessing from Heaven itself. But they were cruel in their rejoice, selfish in their praise. They had not considered your gift was not a gift at all – but a sacrifice.  

Like energy, pain could not be destroyed— but it could be absorbed. It could be transferred. Your father’s cut had not simply disappeared, but instead manifested on the finger of an infant for a few short moments before it faded into your skin; laid to rest amongst a sea of foreign injuries that did not belong to you.  

“Look sharp, kid! We’ve got incoming,” Banner’s voice startled you from your thoughts as he stood at the doorway to your lab. Arms folded over his chest, an amused smirk upon his face, he must have caught sight of the quinjet landing in the hanger from the windows overlooking the loading dock.  

You nodded, setting down the drill beside the stun absorption pad you were engineering for Stark’s newest suit. You didn't have to wonder long who was on the latest mission and currently on their way to your office, because a familiar bickering began to carry down the hall and into the lab, forcing a smile onto your face.  

For a mechanical engineer, you saw more of the Avengers post-mission than the med wing did these days. You’d been hired for your multiple PhDs and borderline genius IQ, but once you’d rushed across the room to spare Stark from a rather unpleasant laceration on his palm from an experiment gone haywire, your lab had quickly become a rotating door of injured Avengers.  

Sure enough, Barnes and Wilson stumbled their way into the lab, Sam draped over Bucky’s shoulder, barely able to put any pressure on his left leg. While Sam tossed you his charismatic grin and those big, round, puppy dog eyes, Bucky favored to dispose of his partner on the lab table with an aggravated grunt.  

“What do we have today?” you smirked, rolling up the sleeves of your coat as Bruce shook his head in amusement.  

“Broken ankle, I think,” Sam replied, gesturing to the mess of bandages and improvised splint.  

You nodded as you stepped closer, examining the injury before you brushed a hand over the swollen joint. Sam whined at the contact, the pain clearly breaking through the lighthearted grin upon his face though he tried to suppress it. His hand curled into a fist.  

“You know I’m not a medical doctor, but I’d have to agree,” you nodded, planting your hands on your hips.  

“You could just get the x-rays and go through PT like a normal person,” Bucky grumbled off in his corner of the room, narrowing his eyes in warning upon his partner. “She’s not here as your personal healer, Wilson.”  

Bucky was always hesitant of your powers. He never said why, but you wondered most days if he was still seeking penance for the evils he’d committed under Hydra, if maybe he felt as though giving you his pain absolved him in a way he was not worthy of.  

Or perhaps it was a degradation of his pride. Men often found strength in their ability to withstand pain. Though, it seemed to bother him when the others would come to you for injuries like this, too, almost as if he worried they were taking advantage of you.  

He was a good man; certainly, more concerned with your consent in healing his friends than your parents and the town who spent your childhood exploiting you ever were.  

“I don’t mind, Bucky,” you told him, smiling encouragingly back at him until he started to relax his shoulders and uncrossed his arms, softening under your gaze. “If it means less time on the bench and more time out there saving lives and having your back, I don’t mind at all.”

“Yeah, Barnes, who’s going to watch your back if I’m held up in a cast?” Sam teased, chuckling under his breath until Bucky stepped forward and not so subtly bumped his hip to the side of the lab table. The sudden disruption of the table moved his ankle just enough to instantly wipe the grin from Sam’s face.  

“Try to relax for me, Sam,” you eased, stepping forward as you started to remove your gloves. You leaned over the edge of the table, slowly removing the splint and the bandage surrounding the swollen muscle. You handed it off to Bucky as you examined the dark purple and blue discoloration on his ankle.  

He hissed as you laid your palms on his leg, clenching down on his jaw.  

You closed your eyes, concentrating as you felt for the break beneath the surface. A crack splintered through the bone, the surrounding tissue swollen and aching.  

A gentle glow began to emit from your palms, a warmth that spread from your hands and directly onto Sam’s skin, through the muscle, and deep into the bone. You could feel the subtle fragments as they began to mend, the swell in his joint as it shrank, the slight movements as he regained feeling.  

Exhaling a tense breath, you shifted your stance onto your right leg as the pressure started to build in your ankle. It wouldn’t last long, just a few minutes in comparison to the weeks of treatment and months of physical therapy Sam would have endured – an easy trade for a man who spend his days so selflessly on the line in the service of strangers.  

You could sense Bucky watching you and you were careful not to let the pain show on your face. There was a privilege in healing the Avengers like this. It gave your life meaning beyond the injuries of your hometown; of careless teenagers falling off skateboards or angry men in bars who took an argument a drink too far. You’d happily take on a few moments of pain in service of heroes.  

Not that you’d let them know.  

“You should be good now.” You held your hands up, the soft glow fading away from your palms as you tucked your hands into your pockets. Careful of the momentary break in your ankle, you took a cautious step away from the table to lean on the chair at your desk. No one noticed the wince in your expression as you put the slightest pressure on the fresh injury.  

“I will never get tired of that.” Sam looked down at the foot in awe, rolling at the ankle and amazed to find the swelling and bruising disappeared completely. He jumped down from the table, bounding on his feet just to test out the freedom in his mobility.  

“Alright, Wilson. Enough,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself again and Y/n’s not going to be so generous next time.”

Sam smirked, pausing for a moment as he contemplated. “Nah, my girl will always take care of me. Won’t ya, sugar?”  

It didn’t slip your notice when Bucky tensed up at the pet name. You started to laugh, the teasing smile dropping from his face as his hands curled into fists. Sam really knew how to press his buttons and it seemed, surprisingly enough, you were one of them.  

“Bucky’s got a point, you know. Fancy healing powers are reserved for field injuries these days.” You were only teasing, both of them knowing you’d have healed a papercut if they’d ask. Still, Bucky smirked, taunting Sam over your shoulder as if he’d won.  

You eased yourself off the chair as you started to regain feeling in your ankle, giving more pressure to the heel to find it barely noticeable. You rubbed at the joint with your right shoe to find the swelling had disappeared as well.  

A few moments to spare him weeks of pain. Easy trade.

“What about you, Sergeant?”  

Bucky paused, raising an eyebrow at you.  

You took a step forward, glancing over him in search of injuries. Nothing more than a few cuts that his own advanced healing would take care of overnight. Still, there was one injury you’d been trying to convince him to allow you to heal in the year since you’ve known him.  

“You going to let me work on your shoulder yet or are you still being a masochist?”  

Sam snickered under his breath as he crossed the room to watch what Banner was doing over his shoulder. Bucky gave you that knowing smile of his, the one that pushed up into his eyes and left behind beautiful creases and lines on his face; an exhale of a laugh on his breath.  

“It’s not necessary, doll. I’m fine.”

A frown tugged at your lips. “You always say that, and yet...”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Bucky shrugged. He was watching you with those sweet eyes of his, creating a warmth that spread in your chest entirely independent of the powers in your hands.  

“You shouldn’t have to handle it in the first place,” you pressed, a pain in your voice as he placed a hand on your shoulder, letting it slide down your arm. It was an intimate gesture, more contact that he had with most people, and he offered it willingly. You tried not to let the shivers show in your spine as he pulled away.  

It looked as though he wanted to say more, but Steve suddenly appeared in the doorway, causing Bucky to take an abrupt step away from you. You hadn’t realized how close you’d been standing to one another.  

“Debrief in five,” Steve ordered, eyeing Sam and Bucky, though paused as he saw you, offering a short smile in acknowledgement before disappearing down the hall.  

“I’m not letting this go, just so you’re aware,” you teased, pointing at Bucky’s shoulder as he started to wave Sam towards the door. He smiled, keeping his back to you until Sam was clear of the room and he leaned into the open frame, one quick glance back at you.  

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, doll.”

***

The next month saw another broken leg, a fractured clavicle, two minor lacerations, a sprained wrist, and a number of superficial cuts – all from various members of the team. Though there was always the one exception who wouldn’t accept your offer no matter how badly he was favoring his right arm.  

The clavicle was certainly a challenge to get through, but the world needed Natasha Romanoff in the field, not strung up on a gurney and a brace for a handful of months. It took longer than some of the other injuries to heal, but you’d managed, even if you had to excuse yourself to the restroom as soon as you’d finished, even if you had to shove a towel into your mouth to keep from screaming as it mended itself together under your skin.  

The truth was you liked being useful. You liked the stunned smiles on their faces and the appreciation in their eyes. You liked seeing them run a hand over perfectly smooth skin where an open wound had just been. It gave you a purpose.  

And sure – your work on SHIELD tech was important and perhaps not all of the injuries in your hometown had been a waste of your abilities, but there was something exceptionally gratifying in mending someone who was untouchable, in healing the people who saved the world.

You’d take a dozen broken clavicles for them.  

It was late after your evening shift and you’d taken to running a few laps on the indoor track around the gym. Blow off some steam, use the state-of-the-art equipment Stark spent thousands of dollars on, give your mind something to think about beside how you were going to rewire Sam’s wings to expand in a more fluid motion.  

You’d just started to break into a sweat when you noticed Bucky setting up at the row of punching bags. The gym was otherwise empty as the sky favored the stars over the sun, and you started to smile as you watched Bucky shrug off his jacket and drop the bag at his feet. He rolled back his shoulders, concentrating on the bag as he readied his fists. But as the first punch hit the bag, the smile quickly fell from your face.  

It echoed up into the rafters, startling you enough to still your sprint abruptly. He let out a grunt as he pummeled at the bag; left jab, right hook, kick, until it broke at the seams and split open to spill sand in heaps upon the ground. He moved on to the next one.  

You clasped a hand to your mouth, looking around the gym to confirm you were in fact alone with him. He’d been on a mission as far as you were aware for the last week. You’d missed him hanging around the lab, asking questions as you worked on new advancements on the stun guns for field agents. He must have gotten back a few hours ago and something clearly went wrong.  

“Bucky?” you called, voice far too soft to be heard across the gym and above the thunderous clash of his knuckles to leather. You jogged a few paces closer, wincing as he threw the entirely of his momentum into a hit that would have broken an ordinary man’s hand. “Bucky? Are you alright?”

But he didn’t hear you. You took a cautious look back at the doors, wondering if you should go find Steve, or maybe even Sam – someone who might know what happened, someone who might be able to talk him down. But you were the only one around. You cleared your throat, stepping up just behind him.  

“Bucky?”

You hit the ground before you knew what had happened.  

A blinding pulsing in the back of your head, the wind momentarily knocked from your lungs, you opened your eyes to find Bucky hovering over you. He held a closed fist in the air, the other digging sharply into your shoulder between his grip, pupils blown wide and dark. It took a moment before he seemed to realize who was laying under him.

“Y/n?” He blinked, confused. His stare flickered to the fist held above your head, knuckles dripping red and bloody, and he pulled away instantly, a flash of horror written over his features. “Shit-- I didn’t... What are you doing here?”

You rubbed at the back of your head, brushing over a slight bump that would certainly mend itself within a few minutes. Slowly, you sat up, careful of the sudden darkness that swept over your eyes, though something cool grabbed onto you before you could fall back against the floor.  

“Hey, come lean against the wall, okay?” Bucky urged, carefully guiding you to adjust your position until you could press your back to the chill of the plastered walls. You sighed in contentment, the pain in your pain already dissipating. Bucky swallowed nervously. “Did I hurt you?”

“I don’t stay hurt for long, Buck,” you told him with a teasing smile, though he did not return it. You set a hand on his forearm, squeezing it lightly before returning it to your lap. “I’m alright. I promise. Are you?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“You were beating that punching bag within an inch of its life,” you clarified, chuckling as you gestured to the exploded bag on the floor, and then to the one still hanging with sand streaming down the seams.  

“Rough mission,” was all he said, his eyes downcast.  

You nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, listening to the soft buzz of the air conditioner and the faint chirp of crickets outside the windows. You didn’t expect him to say anything. Bucky was a man of few words, but you hoped the company was enough. He didn’t make an effort to move away, not even when your thigh brushed against his.  

He was trying to close his fist when you heard him hiss in pain. His right hand was coated in dried blood and fresh, open wounds on his knuckles. They’d barely started to crust over and with every attempt to close his fist, they cracked open, drawing a painful sting in their place.  

“Will you let me heal your hand?”

Bucky paused, setting his hand down on his leg. “Y/n, it’s not necessary. I won’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” you countered. “Besides, it is necessary, actually. How are you going to punch the bad guys if you can’t close your fist?”

“I’ve got another,” Bucky argued back, though a smile had etched its way onto his face. He raised his left hand, making a show of it as he curled his fingers into a fist one by one. “This one’s pretty indestructible so...”

“Please, Bucky.” You turned towards him, folding your legs as you held out your left hand for him to take. “Just this once. Let me do this.”

A stormy array of ocean blue and thunderous skies stared back at you, unsure. His eyes flickered down to your hand. Always so hesitant to ask for help, always so reluctant to accept the good things when they were offered. But as he watched you, searching for signs to run, to back out, something softened.  

He swallowed and slowly, placed his right hand into yours.  

You smiled, adjusting your grip gently on his hand. You placed it to lay on you knee as you hovered your left hand over his knuckles. The warm glow illuminated from your palm and Bucky’s breath hitched as he must have felt the sudden rush of energy it produced.  

The scars began to mend before his eyes and just as you felt the stinging prick on your own knuckles, you quickly pushed your right hand into the pocket of your jacket to hide the scars as they formed.  

“That’s incredible,” Bucky exhaled, withdrawing his hand as soon as you were finished. He held it out in front of him, examining the dried blood coated around perfectly intact skin. He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re incredible.”  

A rush of heat burned in your cheeks as you looked away, a smile breaking onto your lips. It was enough to distract you from the stinging in your hand tucked away in your pocket.  

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” you asked, biting on your lip nervously. “Think you could do with the company and I’d like to keep you from breaking more of these expensive punching bags.”

Bucky laughed at that, nodding. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He stood and offered you his hand, thinking out loud about which one of the movies on his list he wanted to try out next. You pulled your hand from your pocket and took his as he offered it to you; the knuckles already clean and healed.  

***

“You should see it, Fitz! It’s a goddamn stroke of genius.” You held up the ventilator no bigger than the pad of your thumb up to the light, admiring your work.  

“I’m sure Stark will be thrilled,” a thick Scottish accent crackled through the speaker on the com beside you. “Send me the schematics, will you?”

You pursed your lips, a smile etching through. “Think you can one-up me?”

“No never,” Fitz laughed. You could hear him tinkering in his own lab on the quinjet, the small clicks of metal and the buzz of a drill humming over the speaker. “Just want to see if I’m still head of our class or not.”

“Pretty sure we both know that title belongs to Simmons.”

There was a slight pause, then, a dreamy, “yeah, you’re right.”

A sudden knocking at the edge of the lab startled you as you spun around in your chair, nearly dropping the ventilator for Stark’s suit. Bucky stood in the doorway, clutching at his left shoulder as fingers dug into the muscle. He wore a sort of guilty look upon his face though he pushed out a smile and waved.  

“Hey, Fitz, I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?” you said over your shoulder to the speaker, waited a moment for his response and ended the call. You turned back to Bucky as a smile grew upon your face. “What can I do for you, Sergeant? I didn’t miss movie night, did I?”

“No, you’re in the clear,” Bucky chuckled, though it was tense. He stepped further into the lab, relaxing a little as he noticed no one else was around. It was pretty late for you to be working, but you were so close to finishing the ventilator, and well, time easily got away from you with Fitz on the other end of the phone.  

“Coming to keep me company then?” you teased. “I’m actually about done anyway, so we could set up the next movie on your—”

“No, I— um...” Bucky started, losing his nerve rather quickly. He exhaled a tense breath, eyes casting down to the floor. “I was, um, wondering if you could work on my shoulder?”

You raised an eyebrow. Even after that night in the gym, Bucky was still hesitant to your offers to heal his various injuries from the field. He’d give you that sweet smile of his, a soft pink in his cheeks, and tell you that he’d be fine on his own. You never doubted that, but it didn’t mean you couldn't spare him just a few hours of that pain.  

“The, um,” Bucky winced, gritting his teeth as he pushed his hand deeper against the tissue, “the nerve endings are acting up. Shuri said it’s to be, uh, expected given how Hydra butchered my arm all those years ago, but...”

“Come here.” You were already removing the files and paperwork from the table, gesturing for him to take a seat.  

His whole left arm was slack at his side as if he could barely tolerate to move it. Shallow breaths hitched in his lungs as he leaned against the table, settling against the hard, metal surface.

“Can you take this off?” you asked, nodding to his shirt. Bucky’s cheeks flushed and you cleared your throat nervously, playing with the ends of your hair. “It’ll be more effective if I can touch the area directly.”

He removed his right hand from the muscle at his shoulder and gripped at the hem of his shirt. Slowly, he started to pull it over his head, though you could tell from the harsh exhale in his breath that it was causing him considerable pain.  

“Here, let me help you.” You stepped forward and helped ease the fabric up his torso and gently guided it off his right arm, over his head, and eased it down his left. He seemed more at ease with the shirt removed, but a chill swept up his spine in the cool air of the lab.  

You kept your eyes on his, determined not to let your gaze fall to the hardened muscles on his chest and stomach.  

“I won’t be able to heal the scars,” you told him as you moved around to stand behind the table. “Just try to relax for me, okay? I’ll do what I can for the pain.”

Bucky nodded, his hands clenched into the lip of the table, enough to warp the surface. He could barely muster out a response.  

“My hands are a little cold, so...” you muttered out nervously, rubbing your palms together in an effort to warm them.  

Then, you set your hands against the mess of scar tissue surrounding his shoulder, starting at his shoulder blades as the glow illuminated bright enough to light up the corner of your lab. Bucky gasped, the first breath in a long time completely filling his lungs as he felt the relief within your touch. You could practically feel the tension melting off his shoulders.  

It didn’t take long before the pain made its way to your body. Starting out slow, in numbing aches, until it was so sharp, it felt like a dozen edges of sharp blades puncturing into your shoulder. You clenched your jaw, held your breath, thankful that Bucky couldn’t see your face when you bit down on the inside of your cheek and tears sprung into your eyes.  

“God, that... shit...” Bucky sighed, his grip releasing on the table. You could hear the smile in his voice, the relief, and it helped to push aside the pain as it manifested in your body.  

You moved your hand up his back, sliding along the scars where his skin met metal, taking as much of his pain as you could. Bucky was exceptionally strong, able to withstand far more than you could without passing out completely. You couldn’t take it all, especially if you wanted to keep him from knowing how your gift truly worked, but you took enough.  

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, preparing yourself as you moved around to face him. There was more on his chest, by his clavicle, you couldn’t reach from behind him. You'd had years of practice, learning how to keep the pain from displaying on your face. You could get through this for him.  

As you stepped in front of him, keeping a steady hold on his shoulder, you could feel his eyes watching you. The glow under your palms was bright enough to illuminate the lab, but it was a gentle light, as soft as the burn of a candle or the golden rays of a sunset. Bucky watched you with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist into knots.  

You guided your hand along the scar tissue on his chest, doing your best to ignore the goosebumps as they rose in your wake. Your heart was stammering, louder than the pain radiating in your shoulder, though it lessened the more you worked. The pain had nearly left him entirely as he started to take in more even breaths, relaxing his muscles as you felt them soften under your touch.  

You exhaled a tense breath through your nose, concentrating on gathering as much of the pain as you could, on mending the broken nerve endings as they misfired and frayed under the torn appendage. You barely noticed as Bucky crossed his right hand over his chest and laid his hand palm against your hands.  

“Thank you,” he whispered, his fingers curling around the undersides of your hands until he gently tugged them away. The glow faded until the lab was only lit by the soft light of the lamp at your desk and the reflection of the moon peering in through the window.  

You met his eye, the pain still prominent in your shoulder though you forcibly softened the clench in your jaw as he looked over you. His eyes flickered down to your lips for only a second, but it was enough. Your heart skipped.  

Bucky slowly released your hands, letting them fall gently against his thighs, as he leaned forward to cup the sides of your face. Fingers tangling into your hair, you stepped closer, pressed against the table between the parting of his legs.  

You wondered if he could feel how fast your heart was racing, or if he could hear it, because you were certain it was going to beat straight out of your chest. The fading pain in your shoulder you’d taken for him was nothing but a forgotten memory as he pressed his forehead to yours, just waiting.  

The moment his lips touched yours, you lost your breath; fireworks and butterflies, twists in your stomach and clamoring in your heart. You could feel his smile as it spread into his cheeks, your hands seeking more of him as you slid them up the sides of his bare chest. He was beautiful and perfect and so incredibly wonderful, you’d take hours of his pain, years even, if you could keep kissing him like this.  

“Hey, Y/n, I thought you were already done for the—oh, sorry!”

You jolted away from Bucky, restless and a little disheveled, Bucky’s cheeks flamed red, as you turned to find Banner standing awkwardly in the doorway. His hand was shielded over his eyes, his back quickly turned to you as papers littered the floor at his feet. You started to laugh, hand clamping over your swollen lips as you looked over at Bucky.  

“It’s no worry, Bruce,” you giggled, quickly skating over to the door to help him pick up the files. Bucky meanwhile shrugged his shirt back on, fixing the flyaways in his hair.  

“So sorry,” he mumbled again, clearly embarrassed by his intrusion as he glanced over at Bucky apologetically. He gathered the papers into his arms. “I’ll be going now and, um, I won’t come back, okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Bucky’s eyes blew wide in Banner’s quick escape.  

“Still want that company?” you offered with a smile, extending your hand to him. The pain was long gone from your shoulder as he shook himself from the flush in his cheeks and nodded. He took your hand and led you down the hall to the living room. There was another movie on the list to get through.  

***

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy. Your cheeks began to hurt from how often you were smiling, as if it were a permanent fixture on your features. You’d even caught yourself humming along to the radio as you dusted the surfaces in your lab the morning after Bucky had kissed you goodbye on the landing dock in front of at least a dozen agents.  

He’d been away on a mission for the last few days, but he called when he could. You’d spend whatever spare minutes he could get on the satellite phone with him, distracting him from whatever was going on in his end of the world with talk about your latest project with Stark or old stories from the academy with Fitz or what the next movie on the list was going to be.  

He wasn’t a man of many words, but you liked knowing he was on the other end of the line. You could picture his smile perfectly in your mind, the way he chewed on his lower lip, how his eyes fell downcast to the floor by your shoes, the flush of pink in his cheeks. It was enough.  

“So, things are really heating up with you and Barnes,” Natasha commented as she sipped the top of her steaming coffee before it could spill over the edge. You shrugged, though it was hard to contain your smile. Natasha grinned. “I think it’s good for him. You, too. Don’t know the last time I’ve seen him this happy. He seems more relaxed. Like maybe he’s not carrying the whole world on his shoulders anymore.”

“Helps when he’s not in excruciating pain on a daily basis,” you added, tapping at your left shoulder. He’d let you work on it a few times since that first night. It always took some convincing, but the pain was never as bad as it was that evening. You could take it. You’d do it a thousand times for him without question.  

Natasha nodded, a pleased look upon her face. She parted her lips to say more, but a sudden commotion at the end of the hall stole the words from her tongue. You set your coffee down on the counter, peering out around the tables to find agents jumping out of the way of an oncoming train.  

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted, voice breaking in the effort as he sprinted down the hall and slammed into an unsuspecting agent. Papers flew into the air as he sprinted towards your room. “Y/n!”

“Bucky?” you called stepping out into the hallway where he could see you.  

He skidded to an abrupt stop, his hair flying over his shoulder as he turned in your direction.  

“Y/n! Thank God.”  

It wasn't until Bucky stood in front of you that you realized he was covered in blood; soaking into his hair, caked under his finger nails, drenched into his suit, and stained to his skin. Your eyes widened, breath all but leaving your lungs, as your hands clutched against his jacket. He tried to pull you back towards the stairs, but you couldn’t budge, not with that much blood all over him.  

“What-- What happened? Are you hurt?” You started seeking out exposed skin an effort to draw away any pain you could, even if you couldn’t see any exposed wounds.  

Bucky's hand slid over yours, pulling it away. He softened, though you could still see the frantic rise and fall of his chest.  

“It’s not my blood. It’s Steve’s.”

Your stomach sank; relief mixed into an ugly shade of guilt and grief. Natasha was already sprinting down to the med bay, coffee mug cracked and spilled upon the tile floors. Her footsteps echoed through the hallway, the sudden clanging of the double doors startling you from your daze.  

“Please, I—I need you,” Bucky begged, his voice shaking. Tears were burning in his eyes. You’d never seen him this afraid; this shaken and helpless. “It’s not good, Y/n. He’s-- He’s--”

“Okay.” You pressed a hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb sweetly across his face and smeared the tears as they cleaned the dried blood away. You didn’t need to hear anymore. All you wanted was to take his pain, even if your gift couldn’t touch it as it nestled deep into his heart.  

By the time you reached the med bay, a storm of chaos had already barreled through. Lab equipment was knocked over on its side. Dozens of agents frantically running around, shouting orders at one other. Papers and schematics lined the floor with imprinted of boots damaging the print. But it was the trail of blood that drew your attention.  

Droplets trailing from the loading bay of the jet to down the med wing to the surgical room. Dark red and oozing. Taunting. Far too much for any ordinary man to have lost. You tried to stifle the gasp as it hitched in your breath the moment you saw him.  

Steve was strung up on a gurney, suit cut down the middle and flayed open, exposing his chest and the three bullet holes expelling pints of blood. The hands of several agents were pressing down onto him, trying to keep pressure on the wounds, deep red slipping out from between their fingers. The look on their faces said enough – he wasn’t going to make it.  

“Where’s Helen?” you gaped, staring at Steve.  

“Ten minutes out.” Tony stumbled into the room as he rounded the corner, holding a stat phone in his hand. “She’s in the chopper.”

“He can’t wait ten minutes.” Bucky gripped tight to you hand and you could feel the tension radiating in his muscles. You wanted to take it for him but he pulled his hand before you could, turning to face you. “You’re all we have. Y/n, please. I can’t lose him.”

Bucky had never once asked you to heal someone like this. He could barely muster the will to ask you to heal his own wounds, to ease the constant stream of pain in his shoulder, and the open wounds on his hand. But with Steve’s life in the balance, he didn’t have room to be hesitant anymore. He couldn’t risk his best friend’s life.

But he didn’t know it would risk yours in the process.  

You swallowed, glancing back nervously at Steve. “I’ve never healed anything this bad before, Buck. I don’t know if I can--” survive this.  

Could your body heal fast enough to take on his injuries? Could you do them one by one? Would he live long enough to even try? Would either of you?  

“Y/n, please. He’ll die without you,” Bucky begged, his voice wavering. Tears reflected in his eyes; gentle pale blue obstructed by a swarm of fear and guilt and desperation, a redness straining into the surrounding white until his cheeks were wet. The dried blood cleared in streaks as they traveled down to his jawline.  

You watched him as he bit down onto his lip, shielding his face from the others as he waited. The frantic beeping of the monitor strapped to Steve’s chest was growing frantic, irregular, and you knew there wasn’t much time left.  

The worst you’d ever attempted to heal before had been the stabbing of a stranger. You’d found her clutching stomach in an abandoned alleyway in Queens, contents of her purse spilled to the pavement, jewelry torn from her neck. You'd knelt down beside her and took her pain without so much as a second thought.  

As her wound began to close, your skin split open, blood soaked into your shirt, your vision grew dark and hazy, until it was nothing at all.  

The last thing you remembered of that night was the horror in the woman’s eye as she scrambled away from you and ran back to the safety of the open streets. You woke in a pool of your own blood hours later – longer than it had ever taken to heal before.  

A scar remained on your stomach from that night. The only one on your body. A warning.  

Test the limits of your gift again and learn why it’s called a sacrifice.

But as you looked back at Bucky, at a man who never dared to ask you for anything until it was unbearable, who wore his own scars and healed his own injuries in fear of exploiting your gift, who was impossibly gentle for the evil he was surrounded in for decades – you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no. You didn’t want to.

Bucky must have noticed the change in your expression because his shoulders softened immediately, a heavy sigh sinking through his body. He pushed forward and pressed a quick kiss to your lips; short, chaste, and still—filled with a world of emotion, of gratitude, of relief. It gave you the courage to do what needed to be done.  

Tony began to shout for the room to clear the moment you approached the table. You stared down at Steve, whose skin had grown nearly translucent, the monitor above displaying his heart beat as it evened out to a nearly thin line. He was fading fast. You wouldn’t have much time.  

Everything around you became muted, distorted, as you channeled your focus; the huddled whispers of the agents hovering over Steve with their hands pressed to open wounds sounded as if they were miles away.  

Bucky stood at your side, watching anxiously though he tried his best to remain stoic and unaffected, though you knew he was splintering apart at the seams. Natasha and Sam were huddled in the far corner, talking quietly amongst themselves as they tried to put the pieces together as to what happened out in the field. Tony was shooing away stay agents with the threat of force, while Banner did his best to remotely disengage the power on Tony’s glove.  

None of it registered. Not beyond the flow of blood coating Steve’s chest and dripping onto the floor, your shoes stepping into the pool below. It was a miracle he was still alive at all. The serum was the only thing tying him to this Earth.  

You stretched out your hands, hovering over his chest and the agents quickly dispersed. You didn’t dare steal a glance in Bucky’s direction as the glow began to emit under your palms, afraid he might see the goodbye in your eyes or the apology for what he was about to witness. There wasn’t time.  

The pain was sudden. Sharp. Like you’d felt the bullets rip straight through you as if you stood on the battlefield in Steve’s place. You cried out at the impact of it, nearly thrown from your stance as you clutched into Steve’s body.  

Bucky jolted beside you, startled as you cried out again, desperate to choke down the screams before they passed your lips. He stared at you, wide eyed, as you clenched your jaw.  

“Y/n? Are you—”

Another scream tore through you and Bucky visibly flinched. You didn’t have the energy to hide the pain from him, not with three bullets tearing through you. You had to save Steve; put the full force of your power into healing his wounds before they consumed him whole. Damn the consequences. Damn the sacrifice of your gift.  

Your body was always meant to be the host of broken bones and bullet wounds and bruises. Made to be broken and mended. A host to others. A graveyard of injuries that did not belong to you.  

It was what your parents had told you from the time you were a child; that you were a gift to others, that you were a vessel to better the world. But it came at a price; one, it seemed, you’d soon enough pay.  

Your legs began to shake as a wave of darkness cast over your vision, tunneling, consuming the space around you. You could only vaguely make out Bucky’s voice calling your name, his tone laced confusion and concern, but you blocked it out. Daring to look in his direction now would only hinder your resolve and you needed to save Steve’s life.  

Concentrating your power, a scream ripped through your lungs as the glow illuminated the entire room, enough that Bucky was forced to shield his eyes.  

The wounds were taking hold on your body. One at your stomach. Another along your ribs. The third, just above your chest. Exit wounds opening on your back. You could feel the drip of blood as it slid down your skin; thick and unrelenting.  

You were growing light headed as the pain started to dissipate. But the wounds were still fresh on your body, still open and bleeding; the pain shouldn’t have faded so quickly.  

The steady beep of the monitor indicated that Steve was stabilizing, the flesh had nearly closed, and you barely registered Helen’s voice as she rushed into the room, ordering her team to take over.  

“Hey, hey, you did it, sweetheart. You did good,” Bucky exhaled. He had the most beautiful smile on his face; filled with a sense of pride an awe, stunning and handsome beyond belief, even with traces of concern still evident in his eyes.  

But you were stone. A statue. You couldn’t move without fear of collapsing completely.  

“He’s stable now, Y/n,” Bucky eased, trying to pull you gently away from the table. “Come here, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Bucky hand set against your stomach when you didn’t follow and he froze; the sticky wet residue of fresh blood on his hand. He stared down at his palm in horror as the blood began to seep through your shirt in three distinct spots, all perfectly aligning with the ones on Steve’s chest.  

Bucky darted forward, pushing up your shirt to find the wounds he’d seen healed on his best friend moments ago littered over your stomach. His mouth went dry, throat lined with sandpaper, rocks shoved down into his lungs. His hand trembled as it reached out and touched the bullet wound on your ribs. His breath hitched as he felt the warmth of blood and the tear of flesh in your skin.  

He couldn’t breathe.  

“Is Steve alive?” Your voice was barely a whisper and you wondered if Bucky could even hear you at all. His eyes were glossed over in fresh tears, lips parted in shock as he stared back at you. You could hardly keep your eyes open.

Before he could respond, your legs gave way and you stumbled back out of Bucky’s hold. Your vision was closing in, a dark cloud of black swarming around you as your foot caught on the edge of toppled lab equipment. You were in Bucky’s arms again before you made it to the floor.  

You didn’t hear him screaming for help, didn’t hear the shattering crack in his voice, or the crash of equipment behind you as Simmons raced into the room. You didn’t feel his hands as they desperately pressed onto the open wounds, or the heat of his breath as he begged you to ‘stay with me, sweetheart’. But you felt the warmth of his embrace.

It was comforting as the darkness pulled you under.  

***

A heaviness draped over you. Soothing. Pressing you into the soft cushion below. A repetitive chime rang above; even in tone, consistent. It drew you back from the kind embrace of shadows, calling you toward a flicker of light.  

Pressure squeezed at your hand. Cold and warm at once. Solid and soft.  

You listened for the chime; allowed it to guide you as the rest of your senses awakened.

The chatter of voices in the distant too muffled to distinguish. The distinct smell sterilizing alcohol that burned in your nose. The heat of a thick blanket tucked around your legs. The chill of a breeze streaming from the humming vent above. Scratchy bed sheets and laundry fresh clothes a few sizes too big for your frame.  

You groaned, trying to adjust to the influx of light as you opened your eyes. It was a room you recognized. White. Clean. Far too bright. You’d been within the walls dozens of times before, but never laid upon the bed. It was a strange view.  

Glancing down, you found yourself dressed in a dark grey t-shirt that didn’t belong to you. The logo was faded on the chest but it was still recognizable. Vintage. An eagle at the center of a circle, it’s wings remarkably similar to the symbol of the Howling Commandos. Around the edge: Strategic Scientific Reserve. You’d seen Bucky wear it until the hem frayed. Sure enough, as you reached for the bottom of the shirt, you found the split seams.  

A slight squeeze on your hand again drew your attention to your right. There, you found Bucky hunched over the side of the bed; both hands encasing yours, his forehead rested on the very edge of the mattress.  

A smile tugged at your lips until it started to ache. Unused muscles, must be. You wondered how long you’d been out this time. Must have been longer than a few hours. Bucky’s back would need your attention after the way he’s been sleeping.  

“Bucky,” you tried to call, but found your voice was nothing more than a breath of air. You winced, testing it again. “Bucky?”  

He only hummed in response. The sweet vibrations nestled against your arm. It took him a minute as he lifted his head, stretched out his upper back, matted hair fallen down into his face, before he caught your eye; glancing around the room, checking the door, the heart monitor above, like it had become routine, until he realized you were watching him.  

He froze, eyes wide. “Y/n?”

You nodded sleepily, pushing out a smile. “What’d I miss?”

Bucky didn’t laugh. His hands were still gripped tight to yours, squeezing at them as if he were checking to make sure you were real.  

Your smile began to fall the longer he stared at you. “How long was I out? Is Steve okay?”

Bucky cleared his throat, nodding, though it seemed strained. “Y-yeah, Steve’s fine. Doc said he’d make a full recovery thanks to you.”

“That’s good,” you replied, but Bucky couldn’t so much as force a smile. He couldn’t seem to look at you, his hands playing with the lines in your palms. It was then you started to notice the dark circles under his eyes, the wrinkles in days old clothing, the hallowed look upon his face. Your stomach sank. “How long was I out?”

Bucky’s paused for a moment, his movements stilling as he traced your lifeline. He sighed, resuming again. “Six days.”

“Oh.”

A silence swept over the room. You’d never been under that long before. Frankly, you were a little surprised you woke up at all given the extent of Steve’s injuries. Your fingers dipped under the hem of Bucky’s old t-shirt and grazed over the bullet wound on your ribs, feeling for the raised edges of a fresh scar. It didn’t heal, as you suspected the others hadn’t; laid to rest next to the knife wound from the woman in the alley. Injuries you were never meant to survive.  

“Were you ever going to tell us?”  

You looked up, startled by Bucky’s voice as it wavered. He brushed at his eyes; red and glossy.  

“Were you ever going to tell me?”  

“No,” you admitted and Bucky’s shoulders slumped. He sank back further into his chair and you could read the disappointment on his face. You gritted your teeth, preparing to deliver the same speech you’d been telling yourself for years. “My body could handle it, Buck. It was only a few minutes of pain to trade for weeks or months of your own. It kept you in the field and off the bench. The world needs you guys. It was worth it for me. I could handle it.”

“Until you couldn’t!” Bucky snapped, startling you as he tugged his hand from your grasp and began to pace around the room. His fingers raked into his hair, gripping at unwashed strands. “You almost died, Y/n! You almost died because I fucking begged you to use your powers to save Steve and I—Jesus, Y/n — if I had known what it does to you, I never would have asked you to do that!”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” you replied gently, wanting nothing more than to ease him. Bucky shook his head, unwilling to accept your answer. “Bucky, if you knew that healing a papercut hurt me, you wouldn’t let me do that either.”

He paused; arms folded over his chest though he wouldn’t look at you. “No, I wouldn’t.”

You softened, sitting up in the bed, though a dull pain rushed made it rather difficult, leaving you to clutch at your stomach. It ached as you moved, an unfamiliar feeling, and the tension quickly faded from Bucky’s shoulders when he heard you whine.

You pushed through the pain in your stomach, holding up a hand as Bucky started to step forward to help you. It would fade. It always does. You’d heal and move on, until the next injury came through. It was routine. It was your life.  

So, you told him as much.  

“I’d do it again.”

Bucky frowned. He looked like he wanted to just lay on the bed beside you, curl up against your chest and sleep. He was exhausted. And still—he couldn’t let it go.  

“You almost died—”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“A sacrifice?” Bucky’s face contorting in horror. “Are you insane? You're not a sacrifice, Y/n!”

You nodded, determined; the words of your parents, the village elders, ringing in your ears. “That what this gift is, Bucky! I can’t actually heal anyone other than myself, but I can transfer the injuries and the pain to my body. That I can heal. It’s what I was born for! It’s my purpose. I was made to be a sacrifice.”

“Not for me!” Bucky held his ground, voice firmer than you’d ever heard it. “Nothing is worth that to me! Do you understand that? I won’t trade your life for anyone’s, not even Steve’s, and I sure as hell don’t care how many bones I break or how bad the nerves in my shoulder misfire. I won’t put that on you again. The team won’t either.”

You clenched your jaw, heart starting race. No one had ever challenged you on this before. No one had ever questioned whether your gift should be used at all. No one ever seemed to care of the effect it had on your body, never thinking to look past the extraordinary abilities to the mutilation under the surface.  

No one until Bucky.  

You curled your hands into the thin sheets at your waist. “Bucky, don’t be ridiculous. I’m saving you all from weeks of unnecessary healing. I can handle the pain. It’s an easy trade for—”

Bucky’s fist met the wall. “You’re worth more than just a vessel for our pain, Y/n!”  

“What the hell is going on in here!?” Helen Cho rushed into the room, eyes darting between Bucky standing by the corner of the room, shaking out his hand, and you as you laid in the bed at the center, the heart monitor above pulsing far too quickly.  

Bucky seemed to notice the frantic beeping of the monitor and the anger quickly drained from his face.  

Helen glared at him as she stepped closer to you, beginning to check your vitals. “You should leave,” she shot over her shoulder. Your stomach twisted to knots as Bucky nodded defeatedly and walked to the door.  

“No, don’t--” you called, voice small, nervous. He paused in the frame, glancing back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Please, Bucky. Stay.”

Helen set a hand on your shoulder as if to ask if you were sure. You nodded.

“You may be able to heal yourself, but you’re still recovering,” Helen advised, tapping on the IV drip. “Take it easy, alright?”

Bucky remained stoic by the door after Helen left. He didn’t say anything for a while, his eyes focused on the tile floors at his feet, waiting until the heart monitor chimed in even, steady counts.  

“Will you sit down? You’re making me nervous,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. It got him to look at you, at least. While he couldn’t muster a smile, it was clear he was drained of the anger that had quickly taken hold of his body; anger that was never once reserved for you, but for the voices in your head that deemed you unworthy of more than a body to be used by others.  

Bucky sank into the chair at your bedside.  

“When’s the last time you slept, Buck?”  

He stayed silent. It was enough of an answer. You didn’t dare ask the last time he left this room, not with the shiny reflection at his roots and the red strained in his eyes. Six days at your bedside, hunched over on a cold, unforgiving chair, clutching your hand. It ached deep into your bones.  

“I mean what I said,” Bucky mumbled, slowly brining himself to meet your eye. He reached out for your hand, letting the comforting chill of solid metal lay below as the warmth of flesh and muscle laid on top. He brought your fingertips to his lips and gently kissed at your knuckles.  

You sighed at the feeling. “Bucky, I...”

“You’re more important to us than your abilities,” he pressed, a sincerity behind his words and laced delicately into sweet shades of blue. “You do a lot of good to keep us safe with the tech you’ve been building and the adjustments to the suits. You’re incredible at what you do, Y/n. Your worth isn’t based on how many injuries you can heal or how much pain you can handle. We care about you. I care about you. Isn't that enough?”

You didn’t know.

You’d never known anyone to prioritize you over your gift. You parents had exploited it from the moment it was discovered your ability; showing you off, treating you as an idol to be worships and adorned. They put their child through broken bones and lacerations and asthma attacks. They sat back and watched as you healed strangers of arthritis and sprained ankles and migraines. Their child cried as they collected their winnings.  

Were you afraid it would happen again? Is that why you kept it from the team? From Bucky? You’d convinced yourself it was noble to silently suffer in their place, but you started to wonder if it amounted to little more than your parent's words whispered into your ear: your ability is a gift to the world, a sacrifice unto yourself.

“Would you ask any of us to suffer in your place?” Bucky questioned, drawing you from the mess inside your head with the gentle vibration in his voice.  

“I just want to help you...” you murmured, tears slipping past your cheeks.  

Bucky reached forward and brushed the tears as they fell, sliding his hand against your cheek and nestling against your hair. You leaned into the touch.

“So, we find a middle ground, okay?” Bucky offered, smiling enough to push into his cheeks, though his eyes were still heavy. “No trivial injuries. No life-threatening injuries. We take the stuff in-between case by case.”  

“Your shoulder,” you added, determined. Buck started to shake his head but you pressed harder. “Five minutes of pain to spare months of yours, Bucky. No lasting damage. Don’t argue with me on this one.”

It brought the smile back to Bucky’s eyes as he eventually nodded. You knew he had no real authority to decide what injuries you could and couldn’t heal, but you’d never had anyone who dared to put you first. You trusted him to do that; you trusted him more than yourself, anyway.

“We decide the rest together,” you told him. “I get the final say but... I need you to tell me if I’m pushing it too much, but I won’t be too cautious, either. No discriminating against Sam.”

“No promises,” Bucky chuckled, playing with the ends of your hair dreamily. “The other stuff I can deal with.”

“Okay,” you exhaled, relief sweeping through your body.  

“Okay.”

“Think I’ll be lucky if anyone on the team even lets me touch them for a few months after this ordeal, though, huh?” You laughed and though it ached in your stomach, it was considerably less than it was moments earlier. You didn’t mind the dull pain. It was familiar, almost a comfort. Steve was alive because of it.  

“Yeah, can’t say anyone was thrilled to find out how your powers actually worked,” Bucky chuckled. “But they’re happy you’re alright. I’m sure Steve will be, too. He was pissed when he woke up and learned what you did.”

You clenched your jaw. “Never good to be on Cap’s bad side...”

“No, it’s not,” Bucky agreed, wide smile pressed to the back of your hand, his lips touching over exposed skin. “He doesn’t like when anyone else pulls a self-sacrificial move. It’s kinda his thing. Diving into the Atlantic and all. We don’t really need two of you running around...”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, swatting Bucky away. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, the pain in your stomach long forgotten, or maybe it had finally healed. You supposed it didn’t matter.  

They were scars that would never heal. Like the knife wound. Like mesh of hardened tissue around Bucky’s shoulder, stretching out onto his chest and back. Reminders of when you were too both close to the edge, to the brink of darkness. Reasons to push back towards the light.  

read the sequel here!

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦ ♪ ◦∘ Timothée Chalamet - Concerto ∘◦ ♪ ◦∘

A/N - I wrote and posted this almost a year ago on my Wattpad. My writing has evolved a lot since then, but I’m still proud of this piece, and hope you enjoy it. I do not know Tim, nor do I claim to in any way. This is a work of fiction and entirely my own. 

Warnings - smut. Detailed (but protected and consensual) sex, slight BDSM, overstimulation. Cursing. Legal alcohol consumption and smoking. Also 10k words of sickening fluff though, even the smut is fluffy.

Summary - At a classical music concert, the last person you expect to meet is a young man as charming and suave as Timothée. And the last thing you expected is for him to invite you back to his flat. Turns out music really is food for the soul, and other things...

IT’S A FRIDAY EVENING IN NEW YORK CITY. The sun is setting behind the towering silhouettes of undulating buildings all across the city, the moon casting shadows all around au contraire to the luminescence of building lights, beaming all around as well as the street lamps, bringing colour and light to people’s faces in the dark.

You’re standing on the pavement outside Symphony Space Concert Hall on the Upper West Side, people watching. Nothing more or less conspicuous, just observing everyone flooding into the hall, though none of them seem to be under 50 years of age. After checking the time, you take your phone out of the pocket attached to your delicate silk jumpsuit you’re wearing for the night, the one reserved for classy parties and sophisticated concerts only (though very handy). You open the email holding your ticket for the evening, a Poulenc appreciation concert, and you show it to the bouncer who grants you entry to the auditorium.

The room looks incredible. Photos of Francis Poulenc, as well as some old parchment sheets of his music spread out delicately over the usually bare walls. The lights create a perfect ambience in the hall for what's sure to be an incredible evening. The red velvet seats are half full, dotted with people at least twice your age, except from one seat near the front where you can see merely a defined jaw and brown curls. On the stage stands two glossy black grand pianos, slotted beside one another with plush velvet stools and their lids propped up, allowing one to see the inner workings of such wonderful instruments. Behind the pianos are seats enough for an entire orchestra, creating a crescent moon shape. A couple of the seats already have instruments atop them, aching for their owners to play beautiful melodies with them. You make your way down to where your seat is, familiar with the layout of the auditorium. You’re on the right hand side of the centre stalls, third row back, but as you arrive, there’s a boy you saw earlier, not much older than yourself.

“Hi, do you mind if I squeeze past?” You ask him, watching his head jolt up from the programme to reveal a mop of beautiful dark brown curls framing his chiselled face, piercing green eyes with flecks of hazel when the light changed direction. You recognise him, an actor, you simply can’t place him.

His look of incredulity melts into a smile. “Sure.” He says, moving his legs so that you can squeeze past and take your reserved seat on his left. He turns to face you, smiling. He’s wearing a crisp navy suit with a pale blue shirt and a matching tie. He looks well presented, and by his nervous and lopsided smile, you guess that he’s rather nervous to be at the concert alone too. “Timothée.” He tells you, holding his hand out.

You return his gesture, smiling right back at him, and tell him your name. “You here alone?” You ask him, turning in your seat to get a better view. He nods.

“Thought I’d be the only under fifty here.” He laughs, “I’m 24 by the way, but I shan’t ask your name since you're a lady.” You can't help but laugh at this, just a little giggle at how sweet he is, but your interaction is cut short as the lights turn down in the auditorium but shine brighter on the stage, and a full orchestra enters the stage, accompanied by their instruments, two pianists and a conductor. Murmurs in the hall settle down to a faint hum while the musicians tune to the sound of the oboe, and then begin to play.

The music is mesmerising, starting with orchestral pieces with faint piano accompaniment, then just a nocturne for piano, split between the two lead pianists. You could listen to it all night, but an interval has to come. As the lights slowly turn back up, you see an infantile smile on Timothée’s face, as though he’s just watched the most excellent thing in the world.

“Come on,” you say to him, smiling sadly while you tap his knee, “let’s get a drink.”

He reluctantly stands up to follow you out of the auditorium and to the small bar area. You order two margarita’s without consulting him, but he seems grateful as you sit beside each other on a high table, people watching once again.

“What's your job then?” He asks you, making small talk.

“I’m a piano major at Juilliard, teaching piano on the side though.” You respond, and he seems really taken aback. His jaw falls a little slack while his eyes bulge a tad.

“Wow, you must be excellent!” You blush a little at his words, elegantly taking a sip from your drink while he eyes you carefully. You feel awkward under his gaze, though flattered nonetheless. He’s gorgeous, and he’s complimenting you and accepting drinks from you, what a night.

“What about you?” You inquire. He's an actor, you know that, but asking means that you may be able to get some more context and maybe it’ll click where you’ve seen him before. He clears his throat, and you can see some older people walking by who pull faces, judging the pair of you, but you brush them off.

“I’m an actor, mainly small films though.” He says, remaining vague. You don’t push much more, realising that he probably likes not being fawned all over for once, so you simply ask of the favourite names he’s had the honour of working alongside, which must be an uncommonly asked question because a light flickers behind his eyes.

“Selena Gomez, Steve Carell, Armie Hammer, Saoirse Ronan, Emma Watson, Robert Pattinson, Maia Mitchell…” He begins to list, but only when he mentions Maia does it click. You aren't huge into films, but you have seen him in a film with Maia Mitchell and Maika Monroe a few years ago.

“Hot summer nights, right? You were in that?” His cheeks turn a magnificent crimson and he bows his head as though embarrassed. He mumbles something along the lines of ‘not my best performance’, but you disagree. “I think you were wonderful, and did you mention Armie Hammer?” He nods again, seeming a little brighter. You take another sip from your drink, and he follows suit, watching your poised movements.

“Call Me By Your Name.” You nod in recognition, you remember watching the film when it first came out and loving the music from it.

“You’re excellent you know, at piano I mean, and the intimate scenes aren’t half bad either, you make them better.” You say with a teasing smirk on your painted lips, making Timothée’s eyes widen again. You chuckle and grasp his hand, dragging him into the auditorium for the second half.

The second half is a whole concerto, Poulenc’s Concerto For Two Pianos And Orchestra. Ten minutes in, Timothée’s hand finds your thigh and seems very comfortable, so comfortable in fact that you don't dare move it. As the concerto flows further on, his hand slides further up your clothed leg and squeezes your upper thigh a little You tense under his touch, infatuation and lust filling every cell and exiting through your pores, just waiting for more passion to fill your body and make you drunk on the feeling.

When finally the concert ends, both of you stand to applaud the musicians for a solid few minutes, and you could swear you see a tear leaving Timothée’s mysterious eyes and rolling down his heavenly made, painfully defined cheekbones. While you clap, you surreptitiously edge closer together, millimetre by millimetre until you’re hip to hip with elbows nudging. Your head comes up to his chin, making you feel a little small, but you’ll feel even smaller once your heels come off. Once the majority of the audience have filed out, you grasp his hand and pull him through the crowds where you stand on the corner of the pavement, only metres from the venue. You’re reluctant to loosen your grip on his slim hand, as he is with yours.

“Cigarette?” He offers, holding a half full box out to you. You half smile and shake your head in refusal.

“I don’t mind if you do though.” You say, meeting his gaze. “I love the taste of smoke when I kiss someone.” You add in a whisper, leaning up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. He goes rigid, making you smirk to yourself. This is going to be a good night.

He lights his cigarette and takes slow drag, only looking away to blow the smoke in an opposite direction to you. How respectful, you think, as your stomach fills with butterflies and bubbles with anticipation. He puts it out on top of a bin and throws it away without littering, and just that small and helpful gesture makes you crave his touch, having his fingers trace your sweaty skin and making your body tingle, your back arch with desire and pleasure.

“Wanna get a drink?” You ask, pointing to a nice bar across the road. You’re desperate to sleep with him, but not without pleasantries first. He, however, shakes his head and intricately entwines his fingers with yours.

“I’ll do you one better than a drink.” His smirk sets off a different kind of longing in you, forcing your body to follow him wherever he takes you.

As you walk, he starts conversation, but you’re so breathless from the desperation speed walking that your answers are brief. He asks you why you attended the concert, only to remember that you’re a music student and piano teacher; so in turn, you ask him the same question.

“When I was doing Call Me By Your Name, I had to learn the piano, and while I was learning classical pieces, I kind of just fell in love with classical piano music, I don’t know.”

His nervousness is sweet, making him appear far more humble than anyone of his stature would usually be.

You get to his building after a twenty minute dash in heels, and he pulls you flush against him while entering through the revolving doors, allowing you to lay your weight on him for a moment while you gather your breath. You feel his heartbeat thudding and racing against his ribs, reverberating against your own chest. You turn around to face him and place your hand on his chest.

“Breathe.” You say to him, allowing him to release a long held breathy chuckle. You leave the doors, both laughing, and fervently press the buttons to wait upon a lift. “So,” You then continue, breaking the silence where only your breaths were heard. “Favourite piano piece from the Call Me By Your Name soundtrack?”

“Hallelujah Junction!” You both answer at the same time, just as the lift doors open. You fall into the lift in a fit of giggles, clinging onto each other. You find yourself with your back pressed against the cold metal handle bar in the elevator with Timothée’s face inches away from your own. Your breath mingles together. As soon as he presses the button to his floor, he nudges his nose with your own.

“God, you're so beautiful.” he says seconds before his mouth is pressed hotly against your own, kissing you with an unrivalled passion. Your lips mould and move together like it’s second nature. His one hand holds your waist while both of yours grip his face, feeling a slight stubble.

The lift dings and he drags you out, unlocking his apartment door and leading you inside.

“Welcome to Casa del Timmy.” he says while hugging you from behind, allowing you to get a full view.

His apartment is stunning. Sleek, yet also vintage. Your eyes follow across the perimeter through a door to the left, where he has an office area containing a sleek white desk with a mac and a stack of papers and pens, next to it is a vintage white bookcase stacked as high as possible with novels of all shapes and sizes, and even an indie style rug underneath a colourful modern dining set..

The door next to the office is a kitchen, white countertops with wooden cupboards and a beautiful view of the city out of the window. To the right is a set of glass doors that open onto a small balcony where you can see the whole city, even Manhattan and Brooklyn depending which way you look and how the moon beams down. There’s a closed door right in front of you and through the entry hall and living room which you assume is his bedroom held behind a golden doorknob.

His living room, where you remain standing, holds an array of house plants with a couple of very comfortable looking plush sofas, his TV stand as well as his coffee table look like polished vintage items, refurbished from a flea market maybe, while his book shelf and rug are grand and modern. The best part of all though is a grand piano in an oak wood, matching the wood from his television table, and you become instantly entranced by the instrument that you don’t even notice the velvet stool or the perfectly organised cabinet of music, with a guitar propped up against it.

“Wow.” You breathe. Timothée grips you tighter, trailing kisses across your shoulder and up the side of your neck, inhaling every few seconds to treasure the scent of your perfume. Gardenia, rose champagne, grapefruit, davana; heavenly. You grip his hands with your own, holding them tightly where they’re settled on your tummy. You roll your head against his shoulder to give him better access to kiss you, but he stops abruptly and leads you to the piano stool. He opens the cabinet and pulls out a well loved piece of music.

“I know it’s for two pianos, but let's have some fun.” He says, grinning at you, an infectious smile that you can’t help but return. Hallelujah Junction, first movement. He puts the music out on the piano and takes a seat beside you, your thighs touching and hands overlapping as they begin to glide over the keys.

Playing this piece is second nature to you, allowing you to find your way easily, slipping your fingers between Timothée’s, and the white and black keys. You begin a harmonious melody spanning the whole of the piano, but after only a couple of pages, you realise that its not working as your notes cross over, making it very difficult to play on just one piano. You laugh together, but only for a moment before he is trailing his tongue up your neck, then your lips, and delving inside your mouth. You gasp, moaning into the passionate kiss that he’s giving you, and within seconds you find yourself straddling his lap on the piano stool. You trap his thighs between yours, moving and grinding your hips a little against his to receive more friction where you can feel how needy he is.

Within seconds, he has your legs wrapped around his waist and his teeth on your clavicle. The pleasure makes sounds escape your lips that you didn’t even realise were possible. You knot your ankles as he stands up with one hand around your waist and the other feeling his way around his apartment. After a few funny missteps and close calls of him dropping you while only walking the expanse of his living room, he pins you against his bedroom door, finding your lips again

He gently pokes at your dusty pink bottom lip with his tongue, slipping his tongue back into your mouth, exploring avidly and devouring every taste of you that he can muster. You do the same, but become too infatuated by his taste to put much more passion into it: gin, mint, bergamot and smoke. Smoke, sugar and sin, the most deadly combination of them all, and that's all you can smell on him, making you moan even louder. An erotic moan that makes Timothée twist open the handle to his bedroom door as quickly as is humanly possible.

He as good as throws you onto the bed, but undeniably, it turns you on a lot to see his dominant side this early on into the evening. He doesn't seem like the type to pin you down and boss you around, but as he shuts his bedroom door and delicately takes off his probably very expensive shoes, you can see a glint in his eye, almost as if he’s planning on doing unspeakably pleasurable things to you. Just the thought makes you wetter than before.

As he locks the door and shuts his shoes away, you take a quick look around the room. His bed is nice, comfortable and exquisitely large, like other things you hope. He has a nice colourful throw, vintage looking pillows to match his nightstand, holding only a pillbox, a glass of water, hand sanitiser, and a box of tissues. The simplicity makes you want to laugh, but you restrain yourself. He has a big dresser to match his bedside table with the drawers a little skewwhiff and clothes poking out. His wardrobe is fitted to the wall and by the looks of it, surprisingly neat too. That much cannot be said for his sofa though. A plush, light grey sofa sits on one side of his room just away from the window, and it's covered with clothes. At least he made the bed though, that's more than you can say for most 20-odd year old mans rooms that you’ve been into.

He sheds his blazer and crawls up to where he left you on the bed, needy and craving more. He looks down at you with desperation in his eyes, and you can’t help but to attack his lips, threading one hand in his beautiful dark curls while the other nimbly pulls open his tie and undoes his shirt. You shrug it off his shoulders and run your nails up and down his spine. You feel him shiver beneath his touch while your hands travel all over his body. His shoulders, his biceps, his toned stomach; he’s skinny, but has enough substance to him to be strong and sexy as hell.

“You’ll kill me if you stop.” He whispers, followed by a string of breathy curses. His eyes roll into the back of his head, giving you ample opportunity to grasp his shoulders and slip the pair of you over, pinning him beneath you. His eyes flit all over your face before kissing you again.

“You are so freaking beautiful.” He mumbles between kisses. He slips his hands up to find the zip of your jumpsuit which he slides down crazily fast, only breaking the kiss to shrug it off your shoulders. He just lies in awe, noticing that you don’t have a bra on beneath it. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he examines every undulation of your body, following the swell of your breasts right down to your hips. Your nerves return under his scrutiny, making you want to hide your face, but instead he holds your wrists behind you.

“You never have to cover up,” he says, nothing more or less than genuine love in his eyes, “not for me.”

Despite only meeting him hours ago, you know that you can trust him, so you ungracefully clamber off his lap and lie on your back to shimmy off your burden of a jumpsuit. He practically leaps at the opportunity to worship your body, before him in only your panties. He starts at your ankle, placing feather light kisses all the way from your ankle, up your leg, not minding the slight harshness of your legs, and only stops at your knee joint to switch his lips to his tongue, licking a straight line all the way up your inner thigh, stopping centimetres from where you need him the most. Not through any of this ritual does he break eye contact though. He skips over your panties and only pulls them down a little to trail kisses from your pelvic bone, up past your navel, through the valley of your breasts, and finally back to your lips. He makes you feel things that you could only dream of before meeting him.

“Timothée…” you breathe, hearing his breath hitch in his throat at the way your tongue curls around his name.

You reach between the two of you to his trousers. You undo the belt buckle with ease and push his trousers off his hips and down his thin legs, allowing him to kick them off at the bottom. He seems embarrassed, wearing Y-fronts that make more visible just how much he wants you.

“How about we strip together?” You offer, and Timothée reluctantly nods. He pushes himself off of you and stands up, giving you a hand to stand up as well. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off you since the moment you left the concert hall. “3, 2, 1…”

You both remove your underwear, pushing them down your legs and stepping out of them, only to step closer together so that your chests are flush against one another. He moves his hand up to cup your face, brushing your hair away from your face while tilting your chin up, capturing your lips in a lustful yet also sensual kiss.

He nudges you and your legs hit the bed, making you topple over and break the kiss from a giggle, but he doesn’t seem to mind and only laughs with you, moving your body further onto the mattress. He doesn't go to you again, he just lies beside you and dances his fingers absently down your pubic bone, ghosting circles around your clit.

“Jesus Christ.” You exclaim at the sudden feeling. Timothée kisses your jawline, but adds in between kisses, “Less of that, darling, I’m Jewish.”

You can’t help but laugh at him. You know he’s joking, just trying to mess with you, but as a punishment for laughing, he thrusts two fingers inside you with no warning, making you cry out in a mixture of both pain and overwhelming pleasure.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, never going deeper than the second knuckle even when you cry out for more. Only when your moans turn to gasps for breath and you’re writhing beneath him does he delve in further and add his thumb to your clit, giving you a more intense orgasm than you’ve ever had before.

You immediately feel blood rushing back to your cheeks, colouring them from embarrassment, but Timothée doesn’t mind. He removes his hand from your core, and makes sure your eyes are fixated on his every movement as he licks his hand clean of all your cum. You’re so turned on that you even reach for his own hand, interlacing all your fingers except for his index one, of which he takes the hint and slips it into your open mouth, allowing your tongue to curl around it, making him groan.

He slips further down the bed and locks his eyes onto yours, you can see different shades of green and hazel in them and a whole world locked behind those beautiful eyes. Slowly, he delves into your heat, licking up everything that his hands missed. His mouth works wonders, sending your mind into a state of mild euphoria. The tip of his nose nudges your clit and you can feel yourself involuntarily gasp, so when Timothée finishes savouring every taste of you that he can get, he harshly bites your sensitive clit for just a moment, stimulating parts of your mind and body that you didn’t know could feel pleasure, let alone pleasure that intense.

He comes back up and kisses your lips, planting his hands in your hair as you kiss him back and get lost in the moment, your tongues dance together in an exploration, an experimentation of passion.

You pull away after a minute or so, gasping for air. Timothée examines your face for a moment, and you find yourself once again losing your thoughts and sanity in his eyes, until you feel the tip of his throbbing cock brush against your bare thigh. You feel bad for how much he’s been neglecting his own levels of desire in order to pleasure you, so you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. He takes a sharp intake of breath and flutters his eyes closed, his long dark eyelashes twitching alongside his eyelids whenever you grasp harder or pump him.

He’s surprisingly big, causing you to take longer while rubbing your hand up and down his member. Half way down one thrust, you squeeze his cock a little, hearing him whimper a little. The mere sound of him drowns your core in want. You edge your way down the bed and swallow as much of his dick as you can take until his tip hits the back of your throat. He lets out the most sensual guttural groan that you’ve ever heard, his eyes still closed while placing his hand on the back of your head to keep you steady. You bring your head back up to look at him while your tongue swirls his tip, his mouth is parted a little with breathy moans of your name escaping every once in a while, his eyelids switching from being lazily half open to squeezed so tightly shut that they wrinkle a little.

You go back down slowly, inch by inch, hollowing your cheeks. You work your hand in the part of him that won’t fit in your mouth and continue to bob your head up and down. You lick a strip up a vein on the underside of his dick, making him near enough scream your name. With one final bob of your head where you deep throat him, you pull away with plump lips, climbing up his body to straddle his waist. He looks up at you with wide and loving eyes, pulling you down for a sensual kiss.

“Are you clean?” He asks breathlessly, kissing down the hickeys that he’s already littered your skin with.

“Yeah, i got tested after my last break up a few months ago, and I haven’t been with anyone since. Is that because I just…” He nods and you laugh a little, the vibrations from his chuckle rumble throughout your body.

“I did the same, but I’ll still…” You get what he’s saying and climb off him. He flings open the top drawer of his bedside table and after a minute or so of rooting through it he pulls out a condom packet and places it next to his glass of water. You give him a questioning look with your brows knitted together, but Timothée just smiles at you. He slips one slim arm beneath your back and the other under your knee joint before scooping you up and holding you close to his chest.

“Well hey there Timothée.” You say with a chuckle, secretly astonished at how strong he is, because with one arm still holding you, he throws away the decorative pillows and pulls the duvet back, throwing you onto the mattress and leaping on top of you. You smile into his kiss, savouring every second of the feel of his lips pressed hotly against your own, the taste of smoke driving you crazy.

He pulls away and sits up, tearing open the condom packet and grasping his hand sanitiser. He flicks the lid open and squeezes it liberally onto his hands before applying it and rubbing it into yours. “Are you sure?” He asks you, and your urgent kiss to his jawline is followed by a string of fervent reassurances that you are desperate to have him inside you, though you respect that he wants consent and that he wants to be clean. He slips the condom on, his eyes trained on your lips and the way they part from wanting every few seconds. He’s enjoying torturing you and making you wait, the same way that you edged him but denied him orgasm.

He slips the condom on and slowly enters in one smooth stroke. You gasp at the contact, especially how deep he goes with the first thrust, so deep that his pubic bone hits your own. He reaches for the duvet and he pulls it up over his shoulders, covering the pair of you since he can see that you’re shivering a little in the open. He looks for reassurance, but then begins to thrust inside you, holding his weight above you. You can see his biceps tensing while trying to hold his weight up and keep a steady rhythm.

“How about we spice this up?” He suggests, a sly smirk playing on his lips. He cocks an eyebrow, and the sun hits his face at an angelic angle, only making him more beautiful. You nod eagerly to him, only making his smirk grow wider.

“Yes Mr Timothée,” you say, triggering a dominant smirk to relight behind those stunning eyes.

“That's Mr Chalamet to you tonight, Miss.” Words cannot even explain how wet he makes you by saying that, already making your mind want to submit to his every want. You let out a whimper and remove your hands from his hips to lay above your head on the pillows. He joins his fingers around your wrist and proceeds to lay his slender hand flat against your wrists, preventing you from moving.

“Is this okay?” He asks, his movements coming to a halt. You nod and kiss him again. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He must really enjoy what he’s doing to you. “Yes Mr Chalamet.” You reply, making your eyes as doe like and innocent as possible.

Timothée’s thrusts restart, faster this time. You moan louder, ecstasy filling every inch of your spent body before you’ve even properly begun. His moans are lower, more like groans, all of your name. It sounds heavenly coming from his lips, the way his mouth moves when he says your name just makes it better. His hips hit yours with vigour, adjusting to get a better position where he hits the best spot inside of you.

“There Timothée!” You scream desperately, your back arching on the mattress while your hands fight to break free. Submitting isn’t as easy as you hoped.

“I’m close.” He warns you and frees your wrists, but he doesn’t let your hand go too far. He interlocks his fingers with yours, using one elbow to prop himself up. His thrusts turn sloppy, more fervent, and just as he’s finishing, he digs his thumb into your clit.

Your entire body turns limp, screaming his name in a state of complete euphoria like you’ve never felt before. It travels from your brain to the tips of your fingers, setting a fire in your belly and making your toes curl. Your back arches so far off the bed that your chest becomes pressed against Timothée’s, your breasts moving in time with his breathing. You feel him come to his own climax, silencing his screams by kissing you with more passion than he has before.

You ride out your highs, but the level of pleasure illuminating every nerve ending in your body means that you don’t notice Timothée pulling out and disposing of the condom, you only notice when he flops down beside you on the bed and pulls you closer to his slightly sweaty body. You rest your head on his chest that seems to be glowing in the moonlight from the sheen of sweat. He absently plaits your hair, staring off into the distance. The faint thudding of his heart within his ribs comforts you, it's a little faster than would be normal, making you smile a little.

“How was that?” His hand grips around your shoulder even tighter, pulling you closer to his body. He seems content in simply holding you, maybe he just enjoys cuddling. “Wait, don’t answer that.” He corrects himself, his pupils dilating and his excellent, angelic body going rigid. You chuckle to yourself, drawing circles on his chest with the pad of your forefinger,

“Excellent, Mr Chalamet.” You tease him.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He looks fearful, fretting, it's evident in the sudden sulk of his face, pulling his cheeks and forehead down. You shake your head again, slowly but surely moving your leg to lie over his. Ye inclines his neck to place a gentle kiss to our hairline, and you can feel him smile into it.

“Timothée?”

“Yes beautiful?” Just his simple words make you giggle and blush, such a sweet sentiment from a gorgeous and well meaning man.

“I’m hungry.” You say, feeling slightly embarrassed. He laughs, you feel his body move from it, and he proceeds to pepper your face with the softest and sweetest kisses possible.

“I’ll make us some food, grab any shirt you want and meet me in the kitchen.”

You watch him pull on a pair of grey sweat pants and walk out. His pale hips sway just a little as he walks, and he looks so lanky from where you’re laying on his bed, the covers pulled up around your chest. He kissed your forehead before heading to the kitchen, what kind of a man does that on the first night? He’s a famous actor and the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, let alone a couple of years above yourself. He really knows how to please a girl, your skin rises in tiny goosebumps of pleasure while a shiver shoots down your spine and leaps across your synapses just at the mere thought of what he did to you, by far the best climax you’ve ever had.

You slowly slide out from under his warm, plush covers that smell just like him, only leaving with severe reluctance that melts away as soon as you shrug on the pale blue button down that he wore for the concert. Only a few hours ago you’d met at a concert for old people, already having a common interest that few your age have, yet he’s so eager about classical piano which is so special to you. You fiddle with the buttons, leaving the top few open in hopes of another round - he is making you an almost-midnight feast after all.

You walk out of his room and pad barefoot across his living room floor, only to have a little grey cat come and rub at your feet. You lean down to tickle behind its ears, hearing it meow, and you continue your way too where Timothée has left the kitchen door open for you. He’s standing over the stove with some ingredients laid out on the spotlessly clean countertops. You smile in spite of yourself, running a hand through your messy hair before wrapping your arms around his torso from behind. You place a couple of kisses to his shoulder blades until he turns around and picks you up in one swift movement, sitting you on the counter so that you meet his height.

“It looks better on you.” He whispers, pulling you closer by your bare thighs to plant a kiss on your lips. He’s making you feel things you’ve never experienced before, you can’t wipe the smile off your face for the first time in a while, and he's making you food in the middle of the night after cuddling you.

Dreamboat.

After watching him cook for a while, you slip out of his kitchen and take a seat at his piano. You run your fingers over the smooth wood, it’s well loved but well kept. Then you take a seat on the stool. You can feel where Timothée sits to play, your smile turning a little sad. There’s so much to him that people won’t see because he’s getting famous, but he’s still a person and that’s something that you’re able to experience first-hand.

Eyes closed, you feel for F and Ab with both of your hands. You press the keys down gently, creating the soft blend of notes that is Clair De Lune. You fall lost in the music in a new way, a new feeling washing you with all of tonight's new sensations and sitting at a piano that is neither your own nor at school, it feels somewhat ethereal.

Your fingers glide all across the keys, black to white, flats to sharps, switching between octaves like its second nature. Your mind dances along with the rhythm, your whole mind, soul and being becoming lost in the symphony that you’re creating, one that you haven’t been able to create for a while, and it’s only thanks to Timothée.

You become so absorbed in playing that you don’t notice him leaving the kitchen to listen. He just stands in the doorway, leaning against it with his head lolled a little to the side, completely mesmerised by your movements, your music, and just everything you are. Only when you play the final notes are you alerted of his presence from the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet. He walks over to you with purpose, a slight grimace on his perfect lips, but he just hugs you. Timothée just holds you close to his chest, allowing you to entwine your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face in his bare chest.

“Stay the night?” He asks, such a simple request but he truly does seem anxious. You want to be genuine, kind, but it’ll be best to relieve the tension.

“You’re making me a late night post-sex feast and giving me your shirt, of course I’m staying the night.” After a moment of silence, he exhales a laugh and node, brushing a curl or two into his face. “Anyway, your cat likes me too, so it’d be a shame to disappoint the little cutie.”

After only a few minutes, you find yourself back in bed with Timothée. He’s carrying a tray full of food that looks and smells gorgeous, followed by his cat who decides to dance between his legs. He serves you a strangely shaped piece of an odd looking pizza, though it still looks excellent, and it has some perfectly cooked and seasoned vegetables next to it on a white plate.

“What is this?” You ask him as kindly as possible.

“Flammekueche with some vegetables. It’s a French pizza with crème fraiche and bacon. My dad makes it all the time and always gives me some that I just freeze and reheat. I can only make microwave meals and vegetables, so this isn’t bad for me.” The way he explains it makes him so endearing, and even makes the food seem more than enticing. “You’re not allergic to anything are you? Or vegetarian?” You shake your head with a smile, kissing him and thanking him for the meal even though he won’t let you touch it before you sanitise your hands.

You talk the whole while that you eat, learning little things about his favourite books and his family. His favourite book just happens to be Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a book you both know and love, and Timothee has a Jewish mother, a French father, an older sister, and he grew up in the city. You however are from out of the city with an exceptionally normal family, and your favourite book is Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. He seems to be growing fond of you, wiping the pizza sauce from your lip, followed by a kiss each time.

He places your plates on the floor as soon as you finish, snatching at the speed of light for some hand sanitiser, lube and another condom. You more than happily oblige with all of his steps and strip off his shirt, kissing the living daylights out of him before he’s even slotted the condom on. He kisses you back with equal fervour nonetheless, exploring your whole mouth with the tip of his tongue. He cautiously adds some lube to the sides of the condom and slips into you while you’re still atop him. You moan at the penetration, arching your body forwards and hereby giving Timothée a full view of your breasts and the way they bounce with his every thrust inside you.

You moan pornographically at his slow and passionate movements upwards and deep inside you, finding your special spot within moments. He settles his hands upon your hips, squeezing them and guiding your every movement. You ride him just the way he wants you to, you can see it in his eyes. He looks at you like a teenage boy would at a naked supermodel, of which you are only naked and most definitely not a supermodel, despite him treating you like one, and Timothée is thankfully older than a teenage boy yearning for sex.

“You look so fucking brilliant.” He tells you, admiring the way that your face contorts with pleasure while taking every inch of him.

You rhythmically grind your hips against him, swirling them occasionally just to hear him cry out. Nothing is a hinderance from you going faster, but this sex isn’t needing to be urgent to be satisfying. He squeezes your hips harder and you decides to move up a little further, bouncing back down on him as he becomes buried to the hilt in your desperate core. You do it again, engulfing him anew and moaning his name continually from the mix of friction and pleasure that’s sending you into another euphoria, but not enough to release again just yet.

Timothée still hasn’t taken his eyes off you, namely your breasts where he’s currently focussed, eyes trained on your hardened nipples - partly from not wearing a shirt and partly from Timothée’s ministrations. He leans up and captures your left nipple in his mouth, sucking and kissing and swirling his tongue around you in the most divine way possible. He moves his hands away from your hips too, allowing you to grind your hips on his in any way that you like. His one hand moves to your other breast, tweaking and pulling at your right peak and sending sensations through your body that you’d never realised could be real before; while his other slips to the rounds of your ass, squeezing delectably.

“Mr Chalamet, p-please,” you find yourself begging, leaning down while still riding him, his torture on your breasts never ceasing, not even when he thrusts his hips up one final time, allowing your core to devour him whole and sending you into your third otherworldly climax of the night.

“Timothée!” You scream, your climax pouring out of you. You feel him come too, and you hear him cry out your name like a blessing.

He doesn’t pressure you, he just waits until you’re able to clamber off him with as minimal pain and exhaustion as possible, though you do whine at the loss of contact as you lie beside him, his arms securely around you and holding you as close to him as possible. It doesn’t matter that you’re both sweaty or spent, it just feels special.

“Look at that, done before 1am.” He chides, cuddling into you. You laugh a little at him, especially his humour, but it is rather remarkable.

“Two rounds, a meal, and a concert. Can’t speak for you, but I’m knackered.” He smiles at you sleepily, passing you the shirt that you wore earlier. You shrug it on and do it up while Timothée puts his joggers back on and draws the curtains, leaving the two of you in dark for the most part. You lie further down, still close to his thin chest, you hear his breathing rattle a little, but it's soothing.

“Night beautiful.” Is the last thing you hear before falling asleep in his arms.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The only issue about sleeping with Timothée is that you forget it's a Saturday morning, and on Saturdays, you have to work. Your phone alarm starts to go off at 7.15 precisely, which when you’re home, gives you enough chance to get ready for teaching in a calm manner so that you aren’t already angry before teaching little children how to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Today however, that is not the case.

Timothée sleeps through it somehow, but your eyes are shocked wide awake, causing you to leap from the comfort and warmth of his bed and cuddles just to crawl on the floor in search of your phone and where it fell last night. You find it next to his door somehow, and switch the alarm off immediately, propping yourself up against the door to release a long held breath and to watch the sun rise through his windows. He looks so beautiful asleep, his lips parted slightly, soft snores escaping every so often, dark eyebrows furrowed and his mop of curls haphazardly lying around him like a halo. The morning glow makes his cheekbones appear even more defined.

You want to gather your belongings without waking him, get dressed and catch a cab back to your flat, but just as you go to open his door, he stirs.

“Where do you think you’re going beautiful? Come back to bed, I’m keeping you here with me forever.” You know he’s joking, and his words melt your heart and inhibitions a little, but you can’t justify staying

“I have to work, my first student is at 9.30.” You say, walking across to stand beside his bed and brush some hair off his forehead, kissing him and your lips lingering on his sweaty skin a little longer than they probably should have.

“And? I’ll drive you home in time, if you live near Juilliard then I know a shortcut. Just come back.” He's virtually pleading, puppy eyes and quivering lip just to add to the effect, and you simply can’t say no when he looks so perfect. You place your things on the floor by the bed and slip beside him, allowing your eyes to flutter shut just a moment longer.

His finger traces your naked body beneath the shirt, focussing on the bruises he left on your hips and the marks on your neck. Just his touch is enough to take control of your body, to give you goosebumps, to electrify every feeling of love and lust held within.

“Can I use your shower please?” You ask him, and he nods, placing his chin atop your head.

“I’ll take you to my bathroom and then I’ll make you breakfast. Grab whatever clothing you want from my room, but you can’t leave this bed until you agree to dinner with me tonight.”

Your heart rate increases tenfold at his gesture, and you want to take a leap of faith and say yes straight away, but that would be playing your cards too quickly. “We’ll see.” You respond sultrily, making your way to leave, but his strong grip pulls you flush against him with no space to move. You can hear him laughing in your ear.

“Say yes to dinner and then you can leave.” He slips his hands further down your front without losing his grip and decides to toy with your clit as though it’ll get you to talk.

“Y-yes! God, Timothée, of course I’ll go to dinner with you, just don’t stop!” You find it impossible to understand the shockwaves of pleasure pulsating and electrifying your every sense from an action as simple as the pads of his fore and middle fingers twisting and pressing your sensitive clit. It’s so incredible that after the previous night, it feels like overstimulation, and you can’t get enough.

“I’ll never stop.” He murmurs gruffly into your ear, you can hear the hoarseness that smoking causes but god it sounds and tastes so good.

He pulls your body closer and rolls you over. “Hey baby.” You say as calmly as you can, but within seconds you find yourself sitting on his face, half of his stunning bone structure lost beneath you. He delves his tongue into your already dripping heat, licking as far as he can get and only pulling away to kiss and suckle at your clit.

“Let me come Mr Chalamet!” You cry out, and with one final swipe of his tongue around your core and a squeeze of your ass, you let go. Timothée licks you clean while you still chant his name, and he proceeds to pick you up in order to carry you to the bathroom. You settle your heels at the base of his spine, digging in a little, and his arms tense beneath your ass from the manner he carries you. You like being above him, able to trace every line and bit of stubble on his face with your focussed eyes that he stares so deeply into at any given chance.

“Don’t be too long or I’ll be tempted to join you.”

You slowly cross the threshold of the bathroom, winking at him as you close the door. He inaudibly groans, but you can tell from his facial expression and the tension in his joggers that make him look utterly sexy. You slowly unbutton his shirt, reluctant to take it off, but when you step under the warm jet of his shower, that reluctance washes away along with any inhibitions you may have had about Timothée. He’s an angel: clean, respectful, enjoys classical music, has a cat, isn’t a cocky dickhead, and he’s literally the most gorgeous human being that you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You run your fingers through your hair, standing directly beneath his showerhead. The steam clouds your vision, but you can hear Timothée singing while he cooks, Mystery of Love. What a dork, you think, chuckling to yourself while you rinse Tim’s shower gel from your body, and you just know that after this you’ll smell like him, but he smells delectable. As the water hits the most sensitive parts of your body, you remember the previous night. Just the thought of what he did to you makes you crave his touch again.

Through the bathroom window, you can make out the New York traffic that builds every morning, accompanied by the screeching of tires and sirens and car horns. Despite it being a ruckus, it's soothing as you step out the shower and wrap yourself in one of Timothée’s fluffy towels.

“How do you look so sexy when you’re getting out of the shower? God, I can't stress it enough, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my life, even without any makeup and with your hair un-styled, just wrapped in my Goddamn towel. You’re gonna be mine, mark my words.” You feel tears come to your eyes at his kind words, watching him purposefully walk from the kitchen and all the way across his apartment just to place his hands on your waist and tell you how beautiful you are. Those words are better than a concerto to you.

Once you’ve finished getting dry in his bedroom, you ferret through his drawers until you pull out a white top with various tie dye patterns across it. It’s cute, very Timothée. You pull it on and it reaches your mid thighs, making it clock in your head just how much of a lanky lad he is. You bundle together your stuff and head out of his room, closing the door behind you and greeting him with a kiss. He sits you at the breakfast bar and serves you a proper cooked breakfast: bacon, scrambled eggs, and pancakes.

“There's ketchup and syrup in the cupboard if you’d like.” He offers, sidling up on the seat beside you, nudging the tip of your nose with his thumb. The smile hasn’t left your face since you met him.

“This is good, you’re an excellent cook.” You tell him, resting your hand on his. His cheeks glow an even brighter red in the cascading morning sunlight, dappled by his blinds, but he looks magnificent despite his embarrassment.

You take out your phone, just to take a picture of the breakfast while it’s still untouched, and of your hand held by Timothée’s, already wearing rings. You notice that he’s already wearing a silver chain too, and a couple of bracelets on the wrist away from your own, which you find unusually attractive.

“I wish you could stay all day.” he whispers, placing his forehead on yours.

“Me too.” you say softly, smiling sadly and caressing his cheek.

You finish your breakfast and make your way to the living room in a strange kind of waltz orchestrated by Timothée. He insists on holding your waist and turning around a little, moving your feet in sync until you yank him down onto the sofa, catching his lips mid sigh which leads to a much more passionate make out session than you anticipated. Once that’s over, he plaits your hair beautifully, explaining how it used to calm his sister down before an audition. By the time he’s finished a very good pair of plaits, you check the time and it’s already 9, time for you to leave with NYC traffic, but Tim won’t let you go.

“Not without a photo.” He insists, but you question his reasons. Who would want a photo of you with wet hair in plaits, an oversized tee-shirt and a bare face? But his answer is too sweet to refuse. “I like taking pictures of beautiful things, and of which, you are the most beautiful.” Your cheeks flush a raging scarlet, and Timothée takes your few moments of silence as the perfect opportunity to take a picture of you, sunlight hitting your face in all the right places, and he takes another for good measure, his hand on your cheek and his lips on yours, a kiss that shuts you up for good.

He takes you down the stairs right to the garage where he keeps his car, and surprisingly, it’s an understated car, not crazily extortionate nor flashy, something which you respect highly. He sits you in the passenger side, making sure to kiss you before closing the door, and he gets in the driver's side. After starting the engine and leaving the parking lot, he lays his palm flat against your thigh and keeps it there the whole drive while you change gears for him. You tell him all about your childhood, your high school, your time in uni while he tells you his life at a performing arts high school and then his life as an actor, he truly fascinates you.

Once he pulls up outside your building, he tries to convince you to let him come in, or at least walk you to your door, but on the grounds of not scaring the life out of your neighbours and students, you say no with a promise to see him later.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight that you won’t be able to walk.” He says, pulling you in for a final passionate kiss before you step out of the car. He made you wet just before you have to work, you’ll get him back later, but the revenge melts as soon as he leans out the window to blow you a kiss and tell you how stunning you are.

You’re so lost in your trance of Timothée that you don’t notice your first student tapping you on the shoulder and excitedly saying “Was that the Timothée Chalamet?”

You chuckle to yourself, watching him drive off into traffic, all for you. “Yes it was love, yes it was.”

[littlemisslipbalm]

I live in the neighbourhood

When Y/N moved to Hampstead she was unaware of the implications the decision would have on the course of the rest of her life.

or

Harry is Y/N’s eccentric neighbour who sweeps her up in the whirlwind that is his life

this gif bc its maybe my favorite clip of him EVER holy fuck - this is the harry of my dreams this is the harry of i live in the neighbourhood

HEY YALL it’s been a minute and I missed yall so much and I’m just about to be on break so maybe i’ll be back to posting writing regularly but with school its so hard and I think I’ve been working on this for months so yeah <3 lol PLS PLS PLS leave me feedback and reblogs and that stuff bc otherwise my writing just feels...empty and you have no idea the smile i get when even just the tags say like “god this was everything” it can be anything honestly but it keeps my passion up. Thank you again and hope you enjoy.

Word Count: ~10k | Warnings: swearing probably? no smut (yet), rich and famous harry - mentions of Taylor Swif 

-

She considered herself an average young woman in her mid twenties. She liked screaming Taylor Swift and Megan Thee Stallion songs alone in her car and thrifting on weekends. She hated cable because of commercials and when doordash didn’t deliver all of her order. She had asthma when she worked out or the air quality was bad. She had dumb celebrity crushes that her friends and her still laughed over with every new instagram post. She had hopes and dreams she had yet to achieve and she had past trauma that many would never know about, especially at first glance.

Sure, she was successful. She would admit that. How else would she be able to afford even the modest little house she had found in Hampstead? She had studied international business in college and hopped on a plane to London the first chance she got. After a few years of a more than decent paycheck and an advantageous stimulus check from her kind parents, she was able to move out of her starter flat into the suburbs. The definitive push for the move was two-fold. Her parents wanted her to take her dog and her apartment complex was strict on no pets. Then her promotion at work - which included a pay raise - made it hard to wave off taking full ownership of her childhood ten-pound best friend.

So with life happening as it usually does, Y/N first found herself scouring Zillow, then touring homes in the area, and finally standing outside a three bedroom, two bath, two-story cream house in Hampstead. Her house.

The little moving truck she had rented sat beside her as she stared at her future. The realtor had told her they would be there in ten minutes. For the next ten minutes all Y/N had to do was keep herself from combusting, or worse, sobbing.

She felt overwhelmed already. Renting a flat in London was one way to describe herself as independent. Owning a home in Hampstead seemed like a whole new level of adulthood she wasn’t sure if she was prepared for.

After taking a few deep breaths to ground herself, Y/N walked up to the gate that kept her front yard narrowly separated from the sidewalk. She lifted one hand from beneath the box she clutched tightly to her chest to push past the iron-rod gateway. The garden was cute, a little bland, and she thought to herself that maybe she’d develop some gardening skills now that she had her own front yard. The thought made her smile a little, refraining from laughing aloud while on her lonesome, since she had never taken interest in gardening before. But this house. This house. It was a new beginning. It was a fucking unwritten journal. Blank film. Unknown territory. She could be anyone in this house.

She gently placed the cardboard box on the first step up to the front door. There was no porch, but she couldn’t complain. It was gorgeous and she was lucky to get it at the price she did. The house was cream with dark blue accents and a grey shingled roof. Lots of windows. It was classic and it was hers.

After the realtor came with her keys and made sure everything seemed alright, Y/N’s couple of friends, Amélie and Daniel, arrived with their cars filled with items she had needed picking up from various stores. They helped her move her stuff into the house. Thankfully it was already half furnished, meaning she didn’t have to go out and buy beds or couches or any of those big items that are both expensive and a hassle to deal with.

By the time the evening had rolled around, everything was in the house and it actually seemed semi put together. Y/N looked around, sweat apparent on her face and hands on her hips, proud of what she had accomplished. The nerves from earlier had been drowned by pride.

-

The next day, she woke up from her first night in the house. It felt like a dream even though she was sure she was awake.  

She had to navigate her way to the airport today to pick up her dog from his long flight and then mainly settle into the house. Her house sat on Sherwood Avenue, one of the many streets in Hampstead. It’s neighboring houses were much larger. The ones directly next to and across from her weren’t drastically bigger but what she had yet to learn was that next to the house across from her there were two houses that had been joined together by their slightly eccentric owner. A man who would be the match that ignited the flame that was the rest of her life.

This unknown fact quickly became known after Y/N’s first few weeks in her new neighbourhood. The eccentric - more so absurdly rich - neighbor who conjoined the houses was Harry Styles.

The first time they crossed paths she wasn’t even aware of it. It was the day she moved in. He had been out for his usual morning run and was rounding the corner when she had pulled up in her moving van. Once inside his home, he snoopily watched on as his neighbour began to move in. He hadn’t taken note of much about her, just that she was new and that she had a nice pair of jeans on that day.

The second time, Y/N was convinced she needed to get her eyes checked because there was no way that she had just seen Harry Styles key himself into the house across the way from her. There was no way that she had moved into the same area as him, let alone the same street. It seemed far more plausible that she needed a psych evaluation or a strong glasses prescription.

But the third instance of them crossing paths, she was proven wrong. She was on her way back from the neighbourhood park when she saw a guy jogging towards her. With a yellow beanie and a black Columbia sweatshirt paired with running shorts and shoes, he was hard to ignore running straight towards her. The iconic curls, strong jawline, and soft green eyes were dead giveaways this time. After making brief eye contact as their paths literally crossed, she felt herself make a little face of odd interest. Her head quirked and her eyes narrowed, lips pursed with slight confusion. That was definitely him.

After that, she found herself seeing Harry around the neighbourhood a relatively good amount. She’d see him at the park, at the coffee shop, on their street, and more. They didn’t speak. She really didn’t think he would want to be bothered by his neighbours and she certainly wasn’t willing to test the theory. They sometimes gave a small smile of acknowledgement but nothing really friendly. Just ‘you exist and I know that’.

-

Fridays are Y/N’s favorite day. It’s the beginning of the weekend, she never has to go into work and it’s simply a nice day. People are happier, they smile brighter and it just seems like the world is a little better than usual.

Friday was especially amazing today because her childhood best friend, Cate, was arriving at London Heathrow in the evening. Y/N had begged Cate to fly out to see the new house in person and Cate had finally found the time to run away to England for a week.

She shut her front door carefully behind her and placed her headphones in her ears. Rori, that little terrier, who had made a similar flight to see Y/N’s place not too long ago, scampered out the door with her and jumped happily at her legs as she fiddled with her phone. Her coat ruffles around her disturbed from the morning air. It’s blanket-like fabric that consisted of a deep blue backdrop with felt giraffes sewn on it, kept her warm while she walked. With her mind racing with weekend plans and ideas for her and Cate to do both in Hampstead and the city, she crossed the street like usual and began to walk with her dog to the coffee shop for her morning tea.

Unlike usual, she fumbled just as she was putting her phone in her pocket and bumped into something large and definitely not sedentary.

“I’m so sorry!” She blushed and moved backwards from the man who had just been shutting his own front gate to head somewhere.

“S’alright. No harm, no foul.” He looks down at her and her dog. Rori seems excited by the stranger and sniffs him eagerly. A single paw prodding at the man’s long leg.

She grimaces, hearing the voice and stepping back allows her to fully recognize who she had just bumped into. Her neighbour. The runner. Harry Styles.

“Sorry.” She mutters again as Rori continues to prod at Harry’s leg.

She tries to coax Rori away, but Harry simply smiles and leans down to the small dog.

“Hi there buddy,” he coos and rubs the top of the fluffy dogs head, in between his pointy ears, “What’s your name?”

“Rori.” She states easily, Harry’s eyes flickering to her smoothly. Rori makes a smile babbling noise that sounds a bit like a tiny roar - hence the name - and Harry chuckles to himself.

“He’s really adorable,” he finally says and straightens up from his admiring of the dog.

The grimace becomes more of a smile on her face and she mumbles a “Thank You”.

As her neighbour - who hasn’t introduced himself (which wasn’t necessary, but still) or bothered to ask for her introduction - seems to be about to say something new when his phone begins to vibrate obnoxiously. He twitches, his large hands immediately going to his pockets for the important device. He checks the message and looks back at her face.

“Sorry, I have to run...um,” he’s not sure what to say. He really does have to go, but he doesn’t even know his neighbour’s name. He’ll have to make sure to get it at some point in the near future. Especially now that he’s acquainted with her dog.

“No worries,” she smiles completely this time, relieved for the whole interaction to be over. She felt like she was going to explode with each passing moment. In the presence of a legendary musician, c’mon, who wouldn’t be freaking out. All she could think about was how Harry Styles now knew her dog’s name. What the fuck!

-

Upon arriving at the airport, she waited patiently for Cate to walk out of the customs area.

When she did, the two young women began jumping up and down excitedly, Y/N squealing only slightly. They hugged and began chattering intensely, catching up on lost time that generally occurs when you live an ocean apart.  

Finally, one comment rings through the constant back and forth and Cate stops.

“Wait, what did you just say,” she questions as they begin walking to catch an uber back to Hampstead.

“I think my house might be haunted?” Y/N’s voice raising because she’s unsure if that’s what Cate was talking about.

“No, no, the thing after that. I think I must’ve misheard you.”

“Harry Styles is my neighbour?” Y/N’s brows raise as she looks over at her best friend, curious to know what she will say.

“Yes! Explain. Now!”

“It’s not really a big deal. It’s a nice neighbourhood, it makes sense that celebrities of his caliber want to live there.”

“That is not explaining. You have to introduce us!”

As they climb into their uber and settle in for the short ride back to Hampstead, Y/N sighs and tells Cate everything she knows.

“We’ve only just spoken today and I’ve been here for a couple weeks. He lives across the street and down one, I guess. I just see him around, it’s not like he knows who I am. He didn’t even get my name today, just Rori’s.” She laughs lightly, still finding it funny that Harry knows her dog’s name.

Cate nods, leaning in slightly to her best friend, hardly able to contain her awestruckness from the story and baffledness at Y/N’s calmness. “So, like, when do I get to meet him?”

“Girl, I don’t fucking know. Never, if you’re going to act wild. I don’t want the neighbourhood to think I’m not chill.”

“Sometimes…” Cate starts and leans away from Y/N jokingly, “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

They both smile, bumping elbows silently. The song on the radio fading in louder as their words die out.

-

The next day, Y/N took Cate to the local park. It was expansive and connected to the football fields that local teams would play at. The park section was a luscious green that was maintained with copious amounts of watering by the township.

She and Cate settled on a patch of grass near a slender tree that would offer some shade if the sun’s rays became too harsh. The quilt they sat on was something her grandmother had made her when she was maybe 8 years old, meaning it was torn in places and completely worn in a different shade of pink than it had been initially.

They set up their picnic and played music, enjoying the sunny day. Something rare and fleeting as the fall began to creep up on Hampstead.

They eat and catch up on life for about an hour. Basking in the sunlight, Y/N had laid on her back and was staring up at the clouds passing along the sky. Cate was carefully watching their surroundings, simply taking in her friend’s new home, but possibly for another reason too.

“Hey, isn’t that…” Cate trails off, trying to subtly nod in the direction of an approaching figure.

Y/N sits up, her hands holding her up from behind her. Her hair fails in front of her shoulders slightly and it’s a little disheveled from being mused in the grass. She looks discreetly in the direction of Cate’s nodding and then looks at her friend and rolls her eyes.

“Yes, but don’t say anything, he might not even notice me and I’m certainly not calling out to him.”

‘Illicit Affairs’ by Taylor Swift is playing off her speaker and as she’s about to change it, Cate turns it up slightly. They share a glare with one another before trying to act casual again, even though both of their eyes kept flickering to the man who seemed to be continuing closer and closer to their set up.

It became clear that Harry was approaching them after all and Y/N tried to carry on an unbothered conversation with Cate, which was hard with the constant nudging of Cate’s foot on her shin.

He stops a mere foot away from their blanket, beaming at the two young women lounging on the ground. He makes an attempt at a casual wave, his large hand splaying his fingers quickly, before opening his mouth to speak.

Cate beats him to the punch. “Hello there!”

“Erm, hi!” He says nicely to her and then looks at Y/N.

“No Rori today?” He inquires.

“No,” she smiles, slightly blushing at the fact that he remembered her and her dog. “He’s napping.”

“Ah, I see,” He pauses, “I feel like I need to apologize.” He continues.

“For what?” She questions and Cate watches on anxiously, mesmerized by Harry and dying to see what happens next.

“I ran off before I could even ask for your name or introduce myself. It was terribly rude.”

“Oh,” she can’t stop smiling, “It’s nothing to apologize for, I’m sure you’re busy. Besides I had to get my day started, otherwise I would’ve been late picking her up.” She points to Cate who smiles sheepishly, still internally screaming over the fact that her friend is able to talk so easily to a celebrity.

Harry nods and looks at Cate again, “Just visiting I take it then?”

She nods quickly, words escaping her. Y/N chuckles under her breath and swoops in to save her friend any embarrassment. “Cate’s my best friend and she’s been kind enough to take time out of her extremely busy life to come look at my new house.”

He hums, still standing a respectful distance from their set-up. “Nice to meet you, Cate,” he says very kindly. Then he laughs, but in a way that is like he’s beside himself. The two women both quirk their heads at him. Y/N squints her eyes slightly, trying to understand the guy she is talking to and connecting him with the man that is all over the news all of the time for his musical genius.

“Now I know your dog and best friend’s names but still not yours. At this point, I’m begging you to tell me.”

They all laugh and Y/N feels nervous for the first time since Harry had walked up.

“You first,” she smiles slyly.

His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but then go back to normal. Harry was very smart, she likely knew his name, but one, she was trying to be funny and two, she was also trying to be courteous. He preferred to introduce himself rather than just be told who he is, even if people already knew. It allowed him to maintain some normalcy.

“‘M Harry,” He says with a smile.

“Alright.” She says and then remains quiet.

Harry’s lips quirk up in a faint smile, amused at her expression.

“I thought it was a ‘show me yours and I’ll show you mine’ type of situation or was I mistaken?” He finally asks when she remains silent still.

The two young women laugh and Y/N bites the inside of her cheek, both feeling flustered and completely in control at the same time.

“You weren’t mistaken, I was just thinking.” Then she pauses again and Cate thinks Harry is about to combust and Harry thinks he’s going to as well with all the anticipation that has been built up over his neighbor’s name, even though he was pretty sure he’d heard it in passing at one point or another but had forgotten quickly afterwards.

“It’s Y/N.”

Harry releases a facetious sigh of relief, “Oh thank god! Finally!” His words quickly turn into an infectious laugh that is paired with a shining smile and she feels like she’s swooning right then and there. The control has gone out the window and she’s taken with her neighbor. He’s wonderful in that moment and she forgets about Cate or the park or anything. It’s just Harry and how it seems like he’s smiling just for her.

“Now that I’ve gotten your name,” he smiles pointedly at her after his laughter has faded away. The smile doesn’t leave his face though, his eyes still crinkled, his dimples still showing.

She nods, encouraging him to continue. Cate feels like she’s watching a movie unfold in front of her and she wishes she could record the entire interaction.

“I can finally ask you, Y/N, where did you get that fabulous coat I saw you wearing yesterday?”

She twitches further upright, eyes bringing themselves directly inline with Harry’s gaze. “Oh,” she inhales, “The giraffe one, yeah?”

He nods.

“I got it from a Goodwill years ago. It’s some vintage company that used to only make sleepwear. I looked up the tag one time and it doesn’t exist anymore. Super cool, though. Wish I could buy more.”

“Yeah,” Harry says eagerly, even taking a step towards the women, “It was so intriguing. Maybe, if you didn’t mind of course -” he falters, losing his courage for a moment, “you could bring it over and my stylist could check it out. I would love something similar and I’m sure he could figure it out.”

She shrugs. It wasn’t crazy, especially not for Harry - she assumed. She was certain he often found things he liked but there was only one of them so he would just order his own. She couldn’t help the pride that was swelling inside her though it that moment. Harry Styles liking her jacket so much he asked where it was from and then wanting his stylist to look at it. She’d jump for joy when she was in the safety of her private home later tonight with Cate.

“One condition,” she says and Harry’s brows quirk amusedly at her.

“You are a very tit for tat person,” he muses.

“Fair’s fair,” she shrugs again and then looks around her quickly, “It’s simple so don’t get too worked up over it, buddy.”

He laughs slightly again and tries to figure out what she’s looking for. When she extends a scratched up, sticker-covered point and shoot film camera he smiles.

“Can you take a picture of Cate and I? It’s always just the two of us so we never have anyone to take pictures of us together.”

Harry grins at this and her sincere face. Cate is a little taken aback, because while it’s technically true, it’s not entirely factual. They have plenty of film pictures of them - maybe not recently though. And she wasn’t going to question Y/N right now. It seemed like she knew what she was doing.

Harry takes the camera and begins to look through the viewfinder. The women scoot closer together and Cate wraps her arm around Y/N’s shoulder. She leans in to press her cheek against her best friend. They smile up at the camera and Harry crouches slightly to get a better angle.

“Alright,” he mumbles, “Ready?...Cheese!”

Their smiles stay hung on their face as they listen for the click and when the faint sound befalls their ears, Cate laughs and Y/N pulls away. She reaches forward for the camera, her hand easily brushing Harry’s large one.

Their smiles meet each other and Cate can’t help but notice how they grow as the two of them look at one another.

“Thank you,” Y/N says sweetly and pulls back to retake her seat on the blanket.

Harry straightens up, his grin falling back into that signature smirk. “No problem.”

“So-” He begins but she cuts him off.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around, yeah?”

He clears his throat, feeling thrown off. “Yeah, sure. I guess next time I see you we can talk about when a good time would be for your jacket to come over?”

His voice raises at the end of his question a little more than usual, he’s trying to get her to bite, but she doesn’t seem like someone who is easily thrown off. He is trying to read her and she’s been completely cool the entire time. It’s intriguing. Even more so than the jacket, even though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it, it wasn’t really his focus when he walked across the park to her and Cate.

“Yep! It was nice finally meeting you Harry.”

He feels the cue to walk off and says his farewells. As he walks off, back on course to his intended destination, his head is filled with questions. Most important of them being when he would see her again.

Cate and Y/N watch him walk towards the football fields. They see him meet with a group of men and it seems like they’re there to practice or play a game. Y/N couldn’t be sure.

“He likes you!” Cate finally bursts out.

Y/N rolls her eyes, “Stop trying to make me take the piss. That’s a fucking lie and you know it.”

“It’s not! He likes you and you obviously like him, I mean, but we been knew.”

“Having a crush on the famous Harry Styles when you’re 17 is different than me liking my neighbour Harry.”

“But you like him don’t you? He’s even better than he was when he was 19. Now he’s all grown up and established and more your style anyway.”

“Shut up! He could hear you.”

“He really couldn't, he's yards away, you’re just paranoid.” Cate continues to tease and ridicule her best friend over Harry and Y/N is just about ready to up and leave, but she also can’t help but laugh it off.

“I’m literally gonna kick you out if you keep talking,” Y/N says between laughs and the women feel like they’re back in high school losing their minds over the stupidest joke ever.

“Okay, fine. But all I have to say is I will hold this over you when you end up together.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, whatever. Just be prepared to wait forever because I can promise you Harry Styles and I are never ending up together.”

--

Two Weeks Later

Y/N walked to her door after hearing the doorbell ring and opened it to find her neighbour standing with his arm raised ready to knock.

“Hey, Harry,” She greeted easily, but not entirely sure why he was here.

They hadn’t really seen each other since their official meeting in the park. It hadn’t bothered her and it hadn’t really bothered Harry either. It seemed like they both had extremely busy lives that they didn’t plan on throwing out the window because they had said they would meet up at some point. She liked that.

Harry had come over because he finally had a break in his schedule and was hoping to talk about the jacket and anything else really. He was interested in getting to know her and he didn’t care to hide it.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go get a coffee or something?” He asked, leaning himself against her door frame now.

Her eyebrows raise and her eyes widen a little bit, not completely sure she heard him correctly.

“Right now?!” She asked incredulously.

She was wearing an oversized grey sweatshirt and black bike shorts that peaked out from underneath the sweatshirt hem. One of her socks was shoved around her ankle while the other was pulled up flat to touch the base of her calf. She didn’t think she was looking the most presentable at the moment. She had been basking in her day off by simply laying on the couch watching hours of Netflix.

He nods, his smile growing on his face. Her flustered expression only made him happier. She was always so nonchalant with him, he wanted to see her a little more antsy.

“Unless you’re busy,” he adds seriously, not wanting to bother her, just wanting to spend time with her.

“No, no. I’m not...I’m not busy. I just wasn’t expecting any plans where I would be required to go out in public. Let me just...um, come inside and then give me five minutes.”

“Sure,” Harry smiles again as he steps into her home.

Her smile is sheepish and much less genuine then the one Harry holds on his face as he takes in her abode. She tells him to make himself comfortable and then runs to her room to try and possibly fix her state in under five minutes.

She tears around her room, heaving off the frumpy sweatshirt and grabbing a long sleeve striped v-neck top she had hanging out half out of her hamper, a sign known to her that while it was clean enough to wear, if she happened to do laundry she should wash it. Slipping it over her head, she walks to her dresser and leans over to open the bottom drawer and unfolds a pair of dark wash oversized jeans. There’s no holes in them and she throws them on the bed so that she can slip out of her current pants. Next, onto the socks, she swaps out the current ones for a fresh black pair and finds her tortoise print boots to flick on. As she just about runs into her en suite bathroom, she zips the two boots up between steps. A quick comb through her hair, deodorant, two spritz of perfume, her eyelash curler and mascara and she’s running back to where Harry is waiting in her living room.

He blinks surprisedly at her promptness, usually giving people more time then what they say they need. She had indeed gotten ready in five minutes. He thought she looked breathtaking. And she felt like she was at a lack for breath in any case.

“It’s a bit cold out,” he glances to the window.

“Isn’t it always?” She smiles, finally catching her breath.

He chuckles and then nods, a smile appearing on his face as he feels a warmth in his chest at her wit.

“Ready?” He checks in.

She nods, grabbing a coat she kept hung by the door.

“Just the coffee shop down the way?” She inquires as they exit the house and she locks the door behind her.

Harry hums, waiting down a step for her to turn around and walk beside him. It was so strange to her, this felt all too normal with him. Like he was just a friend who had come to pick her up for coffee, her neighbor, nothing more.

“Did you hear the new season of the Crown is coming out soon?” Harry asks as they walk shoulder to shoulder (technically since her shoulder wasn’t in line with his).

“Really?” She looks at him, “I love that show!”

“Me too,” He looks at her and smiles happily.

“That’s amazing,” she breathes mostly to herself, half about the show and half about how Harry watches television and that he watches one of her favorite shows.

There’s silence. The brisk air pricking their cheeks as they walk down their street. Their puffs of breath create a slight mist of white ahead of them and then quickly dissipates.

Her eyes flit up to Harry’s chiseled jaw and face and she watches him as his eyes carefully and meaningfully take in his surroundings. Was it her turn to take a stab at conversation? It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence but she just wasn’t sure what was going on.

“You play football right?” She says finally as they turn onto the next street that would bring them closer to the café they both frequented.

She remembered seeing him there on several occasions. The tips he left were always overly generous, which she assumed you could do when you were exorbitantly rich. He always smiled when he ordered and knew the baristas by name. His order rarely differed and she hated to admit but she knew his two regulars. His actual “regular” was a 12 ounce black coffee, dark roast, no cream and no sugar. The other, his “I’ll actually have”, was a 16 ounce iced green tea, no cream and no sugar.

She couldn’t help that she was observant and that when ‘H’ was called at the bar she looked at what was pushed out, patiently waiting for him to come snatch it up with a smile and nod to the workers before he left. Sometimes he’d even smile at her over the lid of his drink as he exited the establishment. It was warm and inviting and she felt good about the twinkle in his eye that never seemed to waver no matter the day.

Now they were going there together and she’d have to pretend like she’d never noticed what he got as a drink.

He responds to her question with another glance at her and a simple “yes”. His hands shove into his pockets and one side of his pink lips quirk up. He continues, “I’m on a local team with some mates. We’re in a little competition with our league. The final match is coming up this Sunday actually...You should come.”

He says it so casually it almost doesn’t catch her off guard. Harry inviting her to his football game, maybe this was going to be her life now. Going to her neighbours football match. Going to Harry Styles’ football match.

“Sunday…” She sounds out, choosing to look out into the distance instead of at him. “What time?”

“Eight.”

“P.M. right?” She responds quickly, worried since she never wakes up that early and rarely before 10 a.m. on the weekends for that matter.

“Of course,” he chuckles.

They’ve come upon the café and he’s quick to grab the handle to open the door and let her go before him. She can’t stop the blush and smile that spread on her face as she ducks her head into the warm and cozy shop. Men had opened doors for her before and she really thought of herself as a strong woman who didn’t need a man for anything, but something about Harry’s action felt especially, and specifically, chivalrous. Why, she had no idea.

Neither of them stop to look at the menu. They were regulars and they both knew that about each other as well. He gestures for her to go first and she mutters her thanks before turning to the patiently waiting barista. She orders and is about to hand over her card when Harry suavely steps in and says, “Don’t worry about it. I invited you with me, I’ll pay.”

It was both completely unexpected and expected at the same time. Knowing she’d never win this fight, she thanked him again, glanced at the man taking her order and then stepped aside. Harry orders his own drink and then pays for both. Today he leaves double the amount he usually leaves for tip, she assumes since it’s two drinks he was paying for.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?” She says quietly to him once they’re in a corner of the café waiting for their drinks.

He stands slightly slumped against the wall, closer to her height right now. He only shrugs, his good natured smile not once leaving his face since he entered this place.

“I wanted to,” he said simply right as the drinks were ready since it wasn’t particularly busy on this random Friday afternoon.

They glance outside and see that it’s begun to drizzle while they’ve been inside. She sighs, having hoped to walk around a little after being inside all day.

Instead, they sit at the corner table in the café, across from each other. She moves on from the paying thing, knowing it was simply how this guy probably operated most of his life.

He got a black coffee today, the cold and rain likely contributing to that choice.

As one pop song fades out, slightly under the sound of the coffee machines, she’s about to tell Harry she’s pretty sure she can make his final football match when ‘Cardigan’ fades in. It’s the second time a Taylor Swift song has been playing while she’s been in the presence of Harry and they were conversing. She tries to ignore one of her favorite songs at the moment. Harry doesn’t seem to pay much mind to it. His foot is tapping against his other, but it’s been tapping like that since they sat down.

“I think I could probably make it to your game,” she says finally after a pause and a sip of her own drink.

Harry grins at the response and launches into how great it will be if they win and how happy everyone will be. She smiles along and doesn’t notice the slight head swaying to the song that she’s begun.

“Fan of Taylor?” Harry inquires and Y/N’s face drops, eyes widening cartoonishly.

She stutters, a nervous laugh leaving her mouth before she can actually say something. How does she respond about liking Taylor Swift to a man who counts her as an ex. She’s at a loss.

“Yeah, uh,” she finally starts.

Harry watches her curiously, obviously noticing her discomfort as his question.

“I used to not really consider myself a fan. I don’t really follow her just because I don’t really follow...um...musicians,” she chokes out the last word realizing Harry fits that category. “But, after folklore, I don’t know, this album really spoke to me. I also really like Lover and...uh” she pauses again, sticking on 1989, an album she has argued with her friends about how it’s basically a tell all of the man before her and Taylor’s relationship.

He nods, hoping she’ll continue. He wanted to get to know her and he kind of liked seeing her squirm. “1989?” He finally supplies.

Her blush isn’t able to be covered this time. If her hair didn’t fall in front of her ears she was sure they’d be flushed with blood.

Then she draws out of her own self stress and looks at the smooth man before her and grows calm. He was amazing at winding her up and she didn’t want to seem like some young, impressionable fangirl to him. So, she squared her shoulders and straightened up in her chair.

“Yes, it was pop perfection as one of my college friends liked to say. I’d always listen to it at the gym.” Then she pauses, taking a measured breath, gaining her confidence back. Her eyes meet his, “Is there any songs off it that you particularly enjoy, Mr. Styles.”

He chuckles, mostly because of her emphasis on ‘Style’.

“Shake it off?” He asks.

“Oh fuck off!” She laughs and he joins in with her.

When they catch their breaths from laughing, they simultaneously take sips of their drinks and settle their eyes back on one another. Exes and songs written about oneself weren’t exactly the topics Harry had in mind for the coffee outing he had asked Y/N out on, but talks of exes had never been this funny with anyone else. He was grateful for her playfulness, her demeanor.

“Can I ask you something personal?” She asks quietly and seriously.

“I think we’re past that question, love,” he responds.

“Yeah, I guess,” she pauses and just about whispers, “Pretty much all of them are about you right?”

He shrugs again, his felt coat rustling around his seat. “We never really talked about every single song.”

She leans forward at the ‘we’ Harry is using about himself and Taylor Swift.

“But when I listen to the songs, I hear us in just about every one but a few.”

“Wow,” she breathes and sips her drink. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lived through something that intense and then someone commemorated in a masterpiece.”

“Do you have a favorite on that album?” He asks, moving on from her revelation.

“I love ‘I know places’, it has a cool sound. But I also really love ‘Wonderland’. They both have kind of dark sounds, yet it still is like what you have is so special that the bad bits are worth it. I don’t know, it just seems like a tv show. I don’t think my life could ever be that crazy or dramatic.” She doesn’t notice her use of ‘you’ because she had meant it as a form of analyzing the song theoretically as she had done hundreds of times with her friends,  but this time the ‘you’ is literally the ‘you’ the song is talking about.

“Love can turn anyone’s life chaotic.” Harry muses.

The green eye’s that flashed at Taylor throughout that album look at Y/N from across the table and she feels a flip in her stomach at his tone.

Maybe he notices her mild discomfort, maybe that’s just who he is. But after a beat, Harry’s onto the next topic on his mind. He launches into how he’s just returned from Scotland for a shoot for something so undercover he can’t even divulge to her, much to his dismay. She’s taken aback since she didn’t consider her someone Harry would divulge any of his private matters to, but it seemed like he already considered her a confidant. Just not for that. He wants it to be a surprise.

She smiles and listens attentively. She wonders as he goes on about his interesting yet absurdly lavish life whether he even knows what regular life is like anymore. Or if he’d even enjoy it if he experienced it.

Sure, coffee and football were plenty part of regular life . But the football league was something novel to Harry. He had just gotten to do it and he was thrilled by its normalcy.

She regarded him carefully, unsure what the next step was in this budding friendship. Was it dangerous to get involved with someone’s life which seemed to be filled with whirlwind rigor and constant change.

She liked her chaos, don’t get her wrong. She felt like she often was the odd one out in life. Always thinking differently than the ones around her. She often was the one to suggest spontaneous late night trips around town or exploration of an abandoned building known for spooky stories. She liked inviting friends over for themed parties for no specific occasions and she liked taking film pictures of friends like they were models even though it was only for her and her memories. She thought of herself as silly and fun, but what Harry described as his chaotic fun actually was regimented tight schedules of constant travel and work. Interesting experiences came out of that constant travel and work, but didn’t seem like something she necessarily wanted to get herself wrapped up in.

After coffee, they leave the café and it’s pouring now. Instead of going home, Harry insists on walking her to her place. She relents, realizing, once again, that Harry wasn’t someone who took ‘no’ for an answer. She then invites him in because it’s the polite thing to do. And Harry being Harry accepts.

“Want a dry sweatshirt while you wait?” She asks as she slips off her wet shoes and jacket in the entryway. Harry follows suit, his knit sweater being pelted with rain for the last eight minutes left him feeling cold and shivery.

He nods as he toes off his shoes and ventures back to the living room she had him wait in a few hours ago.

“Here,” She says as she tosses a grey sweatshirt in his direction. She believes it's her one from earlier, an innocuous pullover with ‘London’ in collegiate lettering on the front. He catches it as she rounds the corner to turn up the heater.

Her mistake was being so careless to not look at the sweatshirt before handing it over to her neighbor. Anyone else, maybe they wouldn’t have questioned it. But Harry, how could he not.

“What’s this?”

“A sweatshirt,” she doesn’t spare him a glance on the coach as she fiddles with the thermostat.

“It’s one of my sweatshirts,” Harry says and she can hear the smile on his face.

“That’s impossible, I’ve never borrowed-” Her brows had raised at what he said but now her words fall short.

He didn’t mean one of his personal sweatshirts that she possibly borrowed if they were better friends. No. He meant his merchandise.

“It was a gift,” she sighs as she turns to face him. He’s now wearing the sweatshirt proudly and grinning up at her smugly.

She rolls her eyes when he gives her a knowing smile.

“I didn’t know that it was the one I was handing you. Honest!”

“I thought you didn’t “keep up” with musicians,” Harry says playfully, his fingers making quotes appropriately.

“I don’t.” Her tone is serious as she plops on the couch beside Harry.

“I enjoy your music from time to time. Is that a crime?!” She finally exclaims when she can’t handle Harry’s knowing smirk.

“No it’s not, you could have just told me you were a fan!” She tries to stop him and protest that she wouldn’t consider herself a fan, but he continues, “I still would have wanted to have been friends.You’re one of the liveliest neighbors I’ve got. Everyone else on the street is rather dull.”

She chuckles, remembering finding out quickly that the street wasn’t a lively bunch.  

“I just wouldn’t say I’m a fan,” she presses and sits across from him.

He continues smiling like he knows the truth.

“I don’t think you’ve met an average person in awhile, Harry.” She finally says after they sat in silence for a few minutes because they were both too stubborn to be the first to talk.

“I would hardly call you average if that’s what you’re implying, Y/N.” He nods her way and he shifts on her plush couch, his legs adjusting themselves on their own accord. “And I know plenty of average people,” he adds huffily.

“I normally wouldn’t either, but compared to who you seem to surround yourself, I very much am. And that’s not meant to be a jab at anyone involved.”

His right hand sneaks up to his head to scratch at the base of a particularly perfect curl. His eyes squint a bit as his mind processes her claim.

“What are you trying to say exactly?”

“I’m just curious to see if you’d actually like me in your life. It seems like you want to be friends with me and that’s great, but realistically I don’t know how much I would fit into it.”

Harry scoffs, “That’s literally bullshit, just relax. I’m so chill you won’t even know what to do with me.”

Now it’s her turn to scoff. “Chill?!” She asks incredulously. Harry nods with a seriousness she hadn’t seen before.

“When’s the next time you’re flying off to another country for work?”

Harry pauses, “Um...the day after the final match. I’m beginning to film a movie, so I’ll be there for a month.”

“Busy bee,” she muses and they both chuckle.

There’s something about the somber look Harry is giving her. His eyes twinkled in the coffee shop and with playful winks she was excited to be in his presence. But after she mentions when his next trip is, he seems saddened. There’s skepticism behind his eyes and maybe he doesn’t like being challenged about who he is from other people, especially those who are new in his life.

But that’s who Y/N is, she’s straightforward and doesn’t lie to someone. If Harry was now her friend, she was going to tell it like it is to him. That personality trait she worried wouldn’t make her long for his world.

“So the cardigan? Do you have it here?” Harry changes the subject, clearly not wanting to actually consider a realistic friendship together instead just charging ahead with no hesitation. Whatever happened they would deal with it as it came. Maybe she should just go with the flow, let herself be swept up into his madness. Maybe it would be easier than fighting it.

“No.”

“Oh?”

“I do, I was joking. Where else would it be?” Her tone is light, trying to get back the shine she had seen Harry exhibit before it had vanished.

Maybe that was Harry’s effect on people. He was vibrant and like an Elton John song. You never wanted that shine to go away, never wanted the song to end. Never wanted him to stop shining his light on you. She felt this happening in just a few hours with him. When he was happy so was she and when he wasn’t entirely shining she wanted to do whatever she could to get it back.

A smile curls on his face and his green eyes narrow slightly. He’s trying to figure her out, know what she’s all about.

“Do you want to go and grab it?” His voice sweetening, almost like a tease. Maybe he means to bite his lip, maybe he doesn’t, but the effect on her is nonetheless earthshaking.

She pops up and smiles back, happy to have made him happy. As she walks out of the room to go get the cardigan that had started this all, her head tilts and she furrows her brow wondering why she felt such a sense of pride just for making him happy.

Would this man cause her to finally put someone else’s wishes ahead of hers?

-

“Are you on your way?”

She listens to Harry’s slightly worried voice crackle over the speaker of her phone as she shuts her door with the hand not holding her phone to her ear. His voice is raspy and muffled. She assumes it’s from the cold air of London at night and the scarf he is likely got wrapped around his neck.

“Yes! Jeez, I’m on my way. Walking over right now.”

It’s the final match for Harry’s football team and if they win the game then they get a trophy and it’s all Harry has been talking about since they got coffee and she handed over her cardigan.

Harry huffed an “alright” on the other side of the line and she called a “see you soon” before hanging up.

He was both eager for Y/N to come and possibly meet some of his teammates and a few of his close friends who he had invited and for her to arrive so that she wasn’t walking out late at night alone. He hadn’t known her for long, but he felt a certain protectiveness over her. She was relatively alone here, only two friends at work that she had mentioned and everyone else lived far away. She said she didn’t mind it, but Harry had a hard time understanding it since he surrounded himself with his friends as much as he could and was constantly either traveling or having them travel to see him.

He had even contemplated inviting her to come to Los Angeles with him for a month, but knew she would remind him of her ever important job that she couldn’t just randomly take a month off.

He’d have to ask her what exactly she did because every time he tried to remember, it always slipped his mind.

When her figure came into sight below the fluorescent lights, he breathed a sigh of relief. A grin spread on his face as she beamed at him and waved a bit. He didn’t understand how she couldn’t see how special she was. Every time he saw her he felt himself straighten up and feel a bubbling in his chest. Her smile was infectious and the way her eyes glittered when she looked away quickly and then returned eye contact made him want to stay in her presence forever.

“You made it!” Harry said and scooped her up in his arms, not realizing just how happy he was to see her, swinging her around in a half circle.

She laughs in surprise, but appreciates the warmth Harry’s hug offers her. She’s not quite sure they had ever touched each other before this moment beside shoulder brushes and hand touches. Nothing so...purposeful.

“I made it,” she confirms and pats him on his broad shoulders.

Questions in her mind raced as she questioned whether it was normal for friendships to happen like this. She knew in college friendships could happen this quickly. And that’s when it dawned on her, she really hadn’t made a new friend since college and that was why everything with Harry was so odd to her. She had forgotten what new friendship was. She needed to stop questioning everything and just live in the moment with a person she really liked being with.

Harry’s hands move from her waist and one stays to lead her forward so he can introduce her to some of his mates, as he had promised.

She felt at home in that moment. His hand on the small of her back, his heat radiating off of him and her hair swept behind her ears and her cheek pressed to his shoulder staring up at him sweetly.

She meets Charlotte, a member of Harry’s band who lives in London, her boyfriend, Mitch (who had just happened to find himself in Hampstead this weekend), Ben, and a few more people she couldn’t remember all the names of.

Harry’s team wins the game and Y/N’s not sure if she’s ever seen someone so happy to win an adult league football match. There wasn’t any official trophy except the one Harry had made himself and said he would even give to the other team if they won. It was engraved with the words “The World’s Greatest Football Team of Stars Ever. October 22, 2020”. It doesn’t even make sense but she’d been holding it for the entire night as he played.

He goes down the line of his friends who have been watching and gives them all jubilant kisses on the lips. When he reaches Y/N she holds out the trophy and he grins and gives her a kiss on the cheek. His lips are surprisingly soft and his scratchy stubble tickles her and she swiftly pulls back, a smile on her face and blush on her cheeks nonetheless.

Charlotte and Mitch share a look between the two of them and Ben’s eyes narrow slightly at the interaction. His eyes narrow just as they had when Harry had strutted over to the group with Y/N before the game. He had happily named everyone and she had shaken all of their hands with a warm smile on her lips. Ben had regarded her warily and she had shaken it off as the chill of the night air. But there it was again, not quite trusting of the neighbour girl Harry had just randomly befriended a few days ago.

The team and the friends of the team decide they deserve to celebrate this win, mostly at the request of Harry.

Y/N tries to find a time to leave, to return to her place so she can prepare for her day at work tomorrow. But no excuses will be heard from Harry and she has a hard time saying no to his sparkling eyes and gorgeous grin that she’s growing far too accustomed to.

She’s ushered down to the closest pub with the rest of them and finds herself chatting with Charlotte’s boyfriend. He’s the most...normal. She’s not sure how to explain it, but he doesn’t seem to be regarding her as different, unlike every other one of Harry’s friends. They were all perfectly nice and cordial with her, but she just felt like she wasn’t a part of their group, their world and she didn’t know how to explain it.

Charlotte and Mitch are rather nice too, but they’re more reserved with her. They’re musicians, like Harry, and they somewhat have that air of awareness around them that Harry sometimes gets. She thinks it’s from the fame, having to constantly be wary of who is around you, what everyone is doing, what is happening next. She doesn’t mind it, it’s just not something she’s used to.

She wishes she could just throw back some drinks and she could allow herself to be more...well just be more. More of a presence, more of herself, but she has a job she has to get to bright and early. Tomorrow was Monday and for her that meant work. So she sips a beer that Harry insisted be on his tab and she makes small talk with Charlotte’s boyfriend about how he’s been helping her produce her first EP. Charlotte occasionally pops in when she hears her name, but mostly is conversing with Mitch over something silly. Y/N knows because they keep laughing.  

Harry is going around to just about everyone in the party and she watches as he happily talks with every one of his friends. He’s ecstatic and she wonders if she’s ever experienced happiness like he has.

At midnight she attempts to make a French exit, as her mother always called it, and slip away with little to no farewells, but Harry spots her before she can.

“You’re leaving already?” Harry asks loudly, the euphoria of winning his silly little game and drinking a fair amount of pints has him at his peak boisterity.

“I have work tomorrow,” she says warily, slumping slightly from the weight of Harry’s arm slinging around her shoulder.

He turns serious and straightens up slightly, his green eyes looking especially dark in the pubs dim lighting as they look her dead in the eye. “Let me walk you home.”

“I can get home by myself,” she laughs, shrugging off his hold. “Plus, the host can’t leave his own celebration.” She gestures to everyone else happily celebrating on a Sunday, somehow not bothered by the beginning of the average week.

He steps closer, his brow furrowing for the first time that night. One of his large hands raises to his tousled hair and he runs it through the tresses. He even nibbles at his lower lip as he contemplates his decision. Then quickly and suddenly, he makes up his mind,

“No, I’ll escort you. Can’t have my neighbour walk home this late alone. I’ll just leave my card with Mitch. He’ll settle up the tab.” He smiles at his perfect plan and she grimaces feeling slightly embarrassed that he would leave his friends to walk her home. “Won’t you Mitch?” Harry calls as he grabs his coat from the wall next to the door. Mitch simply nods and Harry yells his farewells, Y/N waves meekly.

“That was...interesting,” she mulls over her words as they walk through the cold night air outside of the pub.

“Amazing, right?” Harry speaks over her less enthusiastic voice.

“You have a lot of friends,” she mused, trying to sound less disheartened than she had in her last statement.

Harry only hums and shivers slightly from the cold. His breath comes clearly out in puffs in the cold night air. Y/N’s is muffled by her scarf wrapped tightly up to her chin. She’s tucked his face as far into it as possible but her nose won’t stop from freezing as they walk.

Her hand goes up to it and she rests her palm to the tip of it. The motion grabs Harry’s attention and he looks directly at her curiously.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m freezing,” she muffles out, “This helps my cold nose not be so..cold.”

He chuckles and wraps his arm around her shoulder and she easily folds into him, welcoming any warmth right now.

After another moment of silence and them enjoying each other’s warmth and slight smell of whatever perfumes they had chosen earlier that night as well as beer and wood of the pub, Harry nuzzles his head above hers and then asks her something.

“Was that overwhelming for you?”

She’s quiet, thankful his eyes can’t reach hers right now. He was too powerful with those things.

“I, um, a little. I just...I just realized today that I haven’t made a new friend since college outside of work and it was overwhelming just hanging out with you. So all of your friends as well, yeah, it was a bit much for me.”

Harry looks out at the empty street ahead of them and sighs in realization. In his excitement, he hadn’t accounted how she might have felt tonight until just now. He wanted to kick himself for not thinking of her feelings, but other’s feelings slipped his mind so easily sometimes.

They round their street corner and she nuzzles back into his side.

“I’m sorry, love.” He rubs at her outer arm, “I didn’t think about it like that. I was just so excited for my plan to come together. Maybe next time, it’ll just be a couple of them rather than so many?”

“Sure,” she says quickly, wanting to make him happy, knowing how much he cared about his friends. “I feel like we need to hang out more with just you before I osmos into your friend group though if I’m being honest.”

“Well that can definitely be arranged,” he says and reluctantly lets go of her body. They’ve arrived at her door.

“I also want to see the inside of your house at some point.” She tugs at one of his hands before it can disappear into his warm coat pocket. “Houses,” she corrects.

“That can also be arranged,” Harry smiles with his lips closed. Pink lips and rosy cheeks extra bright from the cold. He plays with her fingers as the two stand close to one another, happy for the alone time and chalking the proximity up to heat sharing.

“You leave tomorrow right?” She finally asks.

His head falls and he sighs.

“Yeah…”

“It’s just a month,” she smiles, trying to stop Harry from being so dramatic. Especially when there was no logical reason for him to be so upset over not seeing his neighbour - she keeps telling herself.

“Are you sure you can’t quit your job and just fly out with me?” He pleads.

She throws her head back in laughter and shifts closer to him, her front porch light illuminating and shadowing every perfect place on Harry’s gorgeous face.

“Not even a chance.”

“That is a shame,” he takes an experimental step closer and she feels his breath fan across her cheeks at his last word.

She wrinkles his nose at the smell of his last beer, even though coming from him it was endearing.

Just as she feels him being to shift his head closer, she steps forward and gives him a tight hug.

“Goodnight Harry,” she whispers into his ear, “Safe travels.”

Then she’s stepping back and swiftly unlocking her door. She moves it slowly so as to not wake Rori and then Harry’s left alone and dumbfounded on her doorstep.

He definitely preferred being with her alone, but now he didn’t even have that chance until next month. And nonetheless she had just sidestepped his kiss with such ease he’s not even sure if he meant to kiss her. It had felt right, but why? Because it was cold and picture perfect? Or because he was enchanted by her and liked her as more than a new friend?

She slumps in her kitchen and fixes an Emergen-C to stave off the chill of the night and any germs that might have been lurking around the pub. She hopes when she walks to her bedroom she can check the front porch and see that Harry has gone home because she would hate to turn the light off on him.

How could he have expected her to kiss him just then? They’ve only just met each other a few weeks ago? And he’s Harry Styles and she just lives in the neighbourhood. What the actual fuck had happened to her life?

[junjungsunwoo]

When The Rain Stops.

Pairing: rich kid! Sunghoon x rich kid! fem! reader

Genre: Angst, very light fluff

Word Count: 10.0k

-> The first time you met him was in the rain. He had looked so mysterious, so...enchanting. Everything drew you closer, making you want to know more about this boy that you met on one cold, rainy day.

Warnings: I don’t remember if I wrote any profanities, abusive family, major character death, car crash, there is a robbery scence, mentions of crontroling parents, there are two or three scences where reader was slapped by her mom, if you see any other I should add please do tell me!

Taglist: @geniejunn​, @deobis-moon​, @taemin-jaemin​, @chaoticdreaminisode​ @abdiitcryy​ @sleepingrenjun @daegalfangirl​ @symoneismeh​ | @imdamconfused​ @geminirules​ (I don’t remember if you guys were in my permanent taglist or not so I’m just tagging you for now, sorry if I bothered you guys T^T)

Networks: @k-dinernet, @foreverkpop-net, @lovesick-net, @hotpink-ent @kpclub @knet-bakery

A/N: I would say sorry this took so long, but it’s 10k and I wrote this faster then I did with Goal! which was 7k so I’d ssy I’ve improved on my speed hehe It would be great if you guys can leave a reblog or comment telling me how the fic was! 

Comments about my fic is greatly appreciated!

-> Part of the Happily Never After collab hosted by me, @junjungsunwoo​. Please do check out the other amazing writers’ works too!

-> collab masterlist

-> main masterlist | enhypen masterlist

April 14th, 2020.

The first time you met him, it was raining.

The sky was dark and grey clouds were all that was visible, the sun was out of your sight. Everyone around you was either walking calmly under an umbrella or running around with their jackets or bags above their heads trying to keep themselves dry for as long as they could. 

You sat under the roof of the bus stop, the roof provided you with a dry safe place for you to stay under until the rain stops. You watch as the people start to disappear, most of them starting to get picked up, or they’ve bought an umbrella from a nearby store, or just plainly walking in the rain unbothered. 

The rain was calming. The sound of the small droplets hitting the ground was soothing in your ears after all of the scoldings you had gotten from your teacher just a few hours ago. The smell of the rain was pleasing, it was light and refreshing- unlike the heavy perfume that was in your face ever since you stepped inside of your high school. 

You close your eyes to take in what was happening around you. 

Without your sight, your hearing was enhanced and you could hear the little things that were happening around you. You could hear the splashes of rainwater when someone steps in a puddle, the sound of fabric fluttering against the wind when a person opens an umbrella, the joyful laughter of kids who are excited to play in the rain, and the sound of cars passing by- splashing water onto the side of the road.

As you enjoy the noise around you, you hear footsteps slowly making their way towards where you sat. The soft sounds of fabric fluttering around were getting closer, as a soft thud was heard right beside you. 

You open your eyes, squinting slightly due to the sudden change in lighting. You look to your left, and there he sat. 

He was soaking wet, water dripped down from the little strands of his black hair which he pushed back revealing his handsome face. From his outfit, you could tell he was a student, but you had no clue which school it was.

 The boy was wearing a dark navy blue pair of pants and a white blouse, which was now see-through due to the water that it had soaked up. The view made the tips of your ears red and your heart beat, but you quickly shook that thought off- instead, you turned over to your bag before pulling out a hoodie that you always kept with you. 

Softly tapping your finger on his shoulders, he turned around to face you. He stares at what was in your hand before he lifted his head to look at you. He had big round eyes and full plump lips, his cheeks had a soft layer of pink on them as it was getting quite cold, and he was wearing a wet outfit. You gesture with your head to your hoodie, telling him silently to use it. 

 He grabs the warm material from your hand before he turns back around to face the road in front of the two of you and puts the hoodie on. He ruffles his hair while shaking his head, trying to get it as dry as he could, before he puts the hood on and turns to face you again.

“Thank you.” His voice was surprisingly soft. He stares at you once again with those big eyes of his, and you could feel your face getting hot. His eyes were big, but they were dull- as if they’ve seen through everything in the world already and were disappointed. You wondered what the boy had seen to have such an expression in his beautiful eyes, but before you could even open your mouth, the boy looked away. 

“You’re welcome.” You look away from the boy and back to the street before the two of you. A comfortable silence falling between the two of you. The both of you did nothing but sat there and watched as cars drove by and waited for the rain to stop, but the rain only started to pour even more. Sighing, you took a look at the boy again, only to find him staring at you already. The two of you quickly broke eye contact and looked away, red blooming on both of your faces. The boy softly clears his throat before he looks at you again.

“Hi,” you turn your head to look at him. “My name is Sunghoon.” He smiled. He hadn’t given you his last name, which was understandable since giving away your full name to a stranger was never a good choice.

You could feel the corners of your lips begin to lift themselves into a smile and you looked at him in the eyes again this time, his eyes had another expression to it- curiosity. 

“Hi Sunghoon,” you say, breaking your eye contact before looking down at your hands, “my name is y/n.” you didn’t give him your last name either, not wanting a stranger- well, a handsome stranger to know your full name. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Another wave of comfortable silence falls between the two of you. Grabbing your bag, you shuffle around inside to find your earphones before pulling them out of the bag. Plugging them into your phone you begin to play your playlist, a smile softly forming as your favorite song comes on; Spring Day.

Looking over to Sunghoon, you see that he was just staring out onto the road blankly, seeming bored. You once again poke his shoulder with your finger and you hold up the other earphone to him, silently asking him if he wants to join you in listening to music. Sunghoon looks at you before he reaches out and takes the earphone, whispering a soft thank you to you before he puts it in his ear. The soft melodies of Spring Day flow right in his ear and he smiles, realizing that his favorite song was playing. 

Sunghoon begins to hum out the melodies he was hearing out of habit before he realized you were watching him. His face flushed red once again at the thought of you watching him hum, but all you did was smile and began humming the melodies that followed. The two of you locked eyes again, smiles growing wider than before, the two of you began to relax feeling strangely comfortable in each other’s presence and you both began to hum along with Spring day that was playing in both of your ears.

As the melodies come to an end, the rain does too as the grey clouds begin to go away and the sky cleared. The two of you stood up from where you sat for the past 15 minutes (which felt way longer for the both of you) and Sunghoon returned the earphone to you before he started to take the hoodie off.

“Oh, you don’t have to return that.” You told him, and he pauses. “Your shirt underneath is probably still wet so just wear this for now, and you can return it when we meet again.” You gave him a smile. 

“We’ll meet again, right?” He smiled at you.

“Maybe.” 

“Well then,” you pick up your bag, “Until next time then, Sunghoon.” You wave at him before you walk away, towards the direction of your house. You didn’t turn your head back when you walked away, but if you did then you would’ve known that Sunghoon watched you walk away with a smile until you were out of his field of vision.

“Until next time, y/n.”

And so, when the rain stopped, the two strangers parted ways.

April 23rd, 2020.

It was raining again.

And just like before, you were sitting in the bus stop under the dry haven the roof of the stop had provided you. This time, you had a cup of hot chocolate in your hands, warming you up slightly every time you took a small sip. 

You were soaked through with rainwater- it had started raining when you were walking home, and as if it was fate, you arrived at the same bus station you met the boy- Sunghoon, last time. 

Despite having a cup of hot chocolate in your hands, your body still shivered from the cold. Your flimsy white blouse doing a horrible job of keeping you warm and covered up as the white blouse was now see-through. You hug your backpack closer to your chest in hopes of warming yourself up and keeping your chest covered from the people who were walking down the streets under their umbrellas. 

Everything was just like last time. People are running to get under cover or they are walking around in the rain unbothered. This time you don’t close your eyes. Instead, you looked around, focusing on the things you don’t really see when it wasn’t raining. 

You watched as raindrops fell onto the windowpane beside you. The droplets stick to the window slowly moving downwards towards the ground. You watched as the small streaks collided with each other and formed into bigger droplets and bigger streaks. You reach out your hand towards the rain wanting to feel the small, cold droplets on your hand.

You feel a tap on your back and you turn to see Sunghoon smiling at you. You felt as if the world was suddenly silent as you looked into his eyes.

“Hey.” He says, his voice was like that of a feather- soft and gentle and his eyes were those like a child’s, they burned you with curiosity, excitement, and amusement. 

“Hi.” You gave him a soft smile, which he returned- his eyes turning into small crescents. He holds out his hands and you look down at them.

“Here,” he hands you the hoodie you had lent him last time, “thank you again, for lending me this last time.” he smiles again, his cheeks rosy and his breath uneven. 

“You’re welcome.” you take your hoodie back from his hands, and a soft smell of citrus fills your senses. 

“I washed it since it was soaked in rainwater when I got back home, and it was the only thing I could do as a thank you for lending me this” he explained as he plopped onto the seat beside you- exactly where he sat the first time he had met you. 

You put the hoodie on quickly, trying to cover yourself up from the boy beside you. Warmth immediately floods your body and the scent of citrus was stronger now that you had the hoodie on. 

Silence fills the space between the two of you once again, and you look over to Sunghoon. He was looking down at his phone and was listening to music. You took this time to take a look at what he was wearing. This time, he had on a  pair of black ripped jeans, with a white t-shirt, and a black blazer jacket on top, with some silver jewelry to match. You accidentally make eye contact with him as you begin to lift your eyes back up from studying him. You broke eye contact and quickly looked away while a bright red began to bloom on your face.

While trying to calm your fast-beating heart, you feel a soft tap on your shoulder and you look over, only to see Sunghoon smiling at you and offering one of his earphones to you. You smiled and mumbled a small thank you when you took his earphone and the soft tempo of Where the sea sleep began playing. The two of you listen to the song in silence, being completely comfortable with each other-  despite it only being the second time you’ve met. 

As the song came to an end, you quickly glanced at Sunghoon and you decided to ask more about him.

“How-”

“How-”

The two of you stopped before you both burst into joyful laughter. The earphone that was in your ear falls out and your laughter turns into giggles as you bend down to pick them up, Sunghoon’s laughter still ringing in your ear.

“You can go first-”

“You go first-” 

Another wave of laughter hits the two of you as he gestures to you to go first. Taking small breaths, you try to calm yourself down.

“How have you been, Sunghoon?” You gave him a smile, your head tilting slightly watching him in curiosity.

“I’ve been...alright.” He returns your smile. “How about you?” You look away.

“It could be better,” you pause, “but I’ve been fine.”

Slowly, a conversation emerges between the two of you as you enjoy your time together. The music the two of you were listening to disappeared as you began to question each other about different things and got to know each other more. 

Still in your own world, the two of you don’t notice that the sky had turned slightly darker and the rain was now slowly going away. As your small conversation ended, you noticed you knew a lot more things about him- nothing too personal, but definitely some interesting things such as the fact that he was a figure skater like you, or that he had the same birthday as you- the same year as well. You find it amazing how the boy in front of you had so many things in common with you. 

Grabbing your bag, you stood up from where you sat, and you turned to face Sunghoon. 

“Well,” you began, “I guess it’s time for me to go now.” You smiled at him, and you swear you saw Sunghoon’s eyes dim a little at the thought of saying goodbye. Sunghoon gets up as well, throwing his backpack over his right shoulder. 

“It was great talking to you y/n,” you felt a small sliver make its way through your body as your name rolled off his tongue. “I hope we can do this again soon.” 

“Yeah,” you smile and he waves before he turns around walking away, in the opposite direction of where you are going to go. “Me too.” 

And so, when the rain stopped, the two newly made friends walked away.

May 5th, 2020

It’s raining, again.

Rushing to get out of the rain, you run towards the little bus station again, hoping that maybe you could see Sunghoon there later. As the bus station got in your line of sight, you could make out a figure inside the stop. You hesitated to go inside the stop as you didn’t want to bother the person inside, but the rain was getting heavier, so you stepped in.

Bunching up the ends of your skirt, you squeeze it hard trying to get your skirt to be somewhat drier. Wet strands of hair were sticking to your face, you brush your hand through them- pushing them back and showing your forehead. You wipe your face with the wet sleeve of your soaked shirt and a hand reaches out with a handkerchief from beside you and you look up at the owner at the hand.

“Use it.” It was Sunghoon. You could feel your heart start to beat faster and faster, and your whole body begins to feel hot. You smiled at him, taking the handkerchief from his hand and uses it to wipe the water from your face.

“Thank you.” You said to him, your voice being drowned out with the sound of rain falling hard to the concrete streets. Sunghoon watches as you pat away the water on your cheeks, a slow smile stretches on his face as he stares at you.

“Why are you here today?” You asked him as you put your bag down and turned towards him.

“I’m just waiting for the rain to go away, I don’t feel like getting soaked today.” his eyes turn into crescents as he gives you a small grin, a hint of mischief laced in his voice. “What about you?” 

“What you said,” You tell him as you look into his eyes. “I’m just waiting for the rain to pass.” You could feel yourself slowly get drawn deeper into his eyes as he stares at you with an emotion you can’t really decipher. 

“Well, I guess we can keep each other’s company while we wait.” You break eye contact at the sound of his voice- feeling a small sense of disappointment as you look away. “You won’t mind that would you?” 

“No, of course not.” 

The two of you exchanged questions and talked about your hobbies for hours, the rain providing you a comfortable setting with its sound and smell- which you both enjoyed. You quickly learned that you both came from rich families and that you both had a deep hatred for the way the high society had so much control over your daily lives- how you both had to put up an act every time you were in the public’s eye. The longer you had talked with Sunghoon the more you noticed different things about him- how little dimples would always show up on his cheeks when he smiled or how he was very expressive with his face, always making cute expressions when he talks about something.

Everytime Sunghoon smiled at you, you could feel your heart explode, everytime he looked at you, you could feel your ears heat up into a bright red. It felt euphoric to be able to spend time with the boy in front of you. From the first day you met him, he had piqued your interest- you wanted to know more about him, ask him why his eyes were so dull that day. But now when you look into his eyes you could see stars- it was like his eyes held the whole universe inside them. 

You knew exactly what you were feeling and you were scared. It felt dangerous to fall in love with Sunghoon. He was really no one but a stranger you had meet for a couple of times and you knew little to nothing about him- for all you know if he had could’ve been lying to you ever since you began talking.

When the rain slowly comes to a stop, so does your conversation, and once again the two of you begin to prepare to go your separate ways. Hesitating a bit, you reach out and tap his back with your phone, and he looks at your phone before he looks up at you, staring right into your eyes tilting his head as a silent question. 

“Can I…have your number?” He remains silent and still for a second before he breaks into a smile and he grabs your phone out of your hand.

“Of course,” he types in his number on your phone. “I was just about to ask.” He gives your phone back, and you take a look. He had saved himself as “Sunghoonie” with a little penguin emoji behind it making you break into a smile.

“I still have something I have to do, so I'll get going now.” Sunghoon threw his bag over his shoulder and stood up before looking at you. “ I’ll see you next time y/n. I hope you like me enough to send me a text.” He gave you another one of his blinding smiles before he turned away, walking at a quick pace, trying to get home quick as he tried to hide the huge smile that was planted on his face as well as the slight blush that creeped its way onto Sunghoon’s face.

You smiled as you watched as he walked away from where the two of you sat for the past hour and just as you were about to turn and take your leave you noticed the little black and white umbrella that was clipped onto his backpack, the smile on your face growing impossibly bigger as you slowly walked away while the sun behind the grey clouds showed itself once again. Your steps were a little faster than usual, wanting to get back to the house you never called home so that you could text the boy you had just talked to, excitement blooming inside of your stomach and you could only hope that your mom would ignore you instead of yelling at you today.

And so, when the rain stopped, the two red faced teenagers parted ways. 

“But mother I don’t want to go the party-“

Before you could finish your words your head was flung to the side, a big red mark started to form on the left side of your face, crystal tears started to form in your eyes.

“It’s the only thing you can do for me and your father after all the things we had to do to raise you up.” She wiped her hands on a white handkerchief before she discarded it in the garbage, “So just do what we are telling you to do like a good daughter- and don’t you dare embarrass us in front of our partners, like how you did last time when you lost in that figure skating competition to the son of Park Jaehwan.” 

Your mother snickers at the name, before she looks you in the eyes again. “Do you know how embarrassing it was for us to know that you lost to his son? He was so cocky about it too, always bringing it up everytime we met. Don’t embarrass us again y/n. You know what happens if you do.” She glares at you as a warning one more time before she makes her way up into her study leaving you alone in the living room to cry your heart out at her words.

Your maids (who you see as sisters instead) rush to help you get into your room to get you ready. The oldest and closest to you- Yeji tries to comfort you the best she could as she wipes your tears away. 

“Please stop crying y/n, you're going to mess up your pretty eyes.” She signals the other girls to start preparing you. “I know how much you hate this but we have to do this.” You look at her with sad eyes, ones that have seen and been through too many things. Different girls held different things in their hands, one bunch had hair brushes and hair ties in their hands while another bunch had different makeup in their hands. 2 of the girls came up to you as Yeji continued to whisper encouraging comments at you, in their hands was a beautiful white dress- one that would make anyone that’s wore it look like an angel. It wasn’t a very long dress as it only went down to your knee- it was an off-shoulder lace dress with tiny diamonds lined up at the shoulder seam, it was easily one of the most beautiful dresses you’ve seen. 

Pushing you into the washroom that was in your room, they all leave you to change into the dress. You put it on gently, afraid that it would rip and you looked into the mirror when you were done.

Oh my god.

You thought as you spun around, watching as the soft silky fabric fluttered in the air. You were in awe at how the dress fitted you perfectly, how it made you look so beautiful- how it made you feel beautiful. A knock on the door disrupts your thoughts as you hear Yeji asking you if you were done and that you needed to get your hair and makeup done.

You open the bathroom door and you watch as all of the maids’ mouths drop open in shock. You let out a cute giggle as they start to snap out of their shock and they began to run around the room like headless chickens trying to get you to look even more beautiful then you are now. Skillful hands were everywhere touching nearly everything, there were hands on your face, fingers in your hair, and you were pretty sure at one point someone’s hand was on your feet putting your shoes on for you but you couldn’t tell.

Once they were done, they had stood you in front of a mirror once again. And if you thought you had looked your best before- you were wrong. Now standing in front of the mirror with your hair done and simple but elegant makeup on your face, you looked like a goddess. The small diamond earrings that were dangling on your ears complemented the diamonds on your dress and the white stiletto heels complimenting your white dress. 

Without hearing your mother knock, she slams the door open before she begins to drag you out and rant about being ‘fashionably late’ before you had a chance to say thank you to your maids- so you mouthed it to them and flashed a quick smile before being pushed out of the front door. And into a car that was too expensive to your taste.

It was so boring.

There was nothing to do, and no one to talk to. Everyone that was in the room were adults that were just looking to show off their wealth and power or adults that were looking for new business partners- there was no place for a teenager like you. You were placed next to your mother who was talking to one of her business partners who also had their son standing next to them. 

“Hey y/n.” You look over to the voice, “how have you been?” It was the boy that stood beside the man who was talking to your mother. 

“Hey Jay,” You lifted your glass of apple juice to him, which he cheered his cup with yours before he downed the whole thing. “I’ve been good, you?” He takes a look at you again before he places his now empty cup on a platter of a nearby servant.

“I’ve been good too.” A small talk begins between the two of you before you are both interrupted by another boy.

“You should really smile y/n, you look like you’d rather die than to be here.” You turn around to the voice only to see Lee Heeseung, another close friend of yours and Jay “Hey Jay.” He says to his cousin before they do their little handshake.

“Shut up Hee, you know how much I hate being in these parties.” The named boy lets out a small chuckle before he pats your shoulder in a teasing manner.

Slowly, as the three of you quietly talk in your own little circle, more and more teenagers joined you- some boys named Sunoo, Jungwon, and Riki along with a girl named Ryujin.

The topics the seven of you talked about flew around everywhere, quickly changing as a person talked about something else that interested the rest of the six. Suddenly, a loud sound came out of nowhere as a rainstorm slowly brewed outside the window. Everyone inside the beautifully decorated ballroom paid no attention to the weather outside as they continued to dance and chat inside the dry, brightly lit golden room. 

You stared outside into the rain a little longer than everyone else, your mind wandering off to the boy named Sunghoon. You wondered if he was thinking about you right now- if he wanted to meet you again. 

Feeling a light tug on your dress, you look away from the world outside to Ryujin who was looking at someone in the crowd. She inches a little closer to you before bringing her mouth near your ear.

“Someone’s been staring at you for a while now,” she pauses, looking back to the crowd again. “I don’t know if you know him or something, but he doesn’t seem to hold any hostility to you from what I see.” Her eyes searched the crowd before quickly pointing to the two boys that were talking near the wall opposite to your group.

You recognized the boy in the navy blue suit right away- it was Jake Shim, a distant cousin of Jay. The two of you never talked much but the two of you still considered each other friends. You squint a little at the second boy who's back faced you, the boy wore a white suit and he had black hair that was slightly slicked back.

Your eyes widened as the two of you made eye contact, and you suddenly felt as if everyone else in the room had disappeared leaving only you and Sunghoon in the room. Sunghoon’s face matches yours as his eyes widen slightly and his mouth opens to let out a small gasp of surprise. 

You were so caught up in surprise at the sight of Sunghoon that you didn’t notice Jake waving excitedly at his cousin and had begun dragging Sunghoon to your group. You snap out of your surprise as Jake waves his hand in front of your face in excitement before saying his greetings.

“Hey y/n! It’s nice to see you again!” He smiled at you and you were flustered at his puppy-like personality. He points to Sunghoon as he begins introducing the two of you. “This is Park Sunghoon, he’s my best friend in high society! If I remembered correctly, you skate right? Sunghoon here also skates a lot, maybe you guys can be friends or something!” You stared at Sunghoon for a few seconds before you tore your eyes from him to look at Jake who seemed like an excited puppy waiting for your compliments. 

“Hi Sunghoon, it’s nice to meet you.” You gave Sunghoon a tight lipped smile- one that never reached your eyes. 

“Hello, y/n. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He also smiles, but it was one that looked forced- unlike all of the ones you’ve seen on his lips when you talked at the bus station. Jake leaves the two of you to greet his cousin and the rest of your friends. The two of you were quiet, not knowing what to say to each other in a situation like this. 

“So-“

“How-“

The two of you pause for a second before laughter bloomed between the two of you, finding his situation familiar. Sunghoon gestures to you to go first as the laughter begins to quiet down.

“So...how have you been?” You asked him quietly as the atmosphere around the two of you began to feel awkward once again. It’s been over a week since you’ve seen Sunghoon and seeing him here was surprising as you didn’t expect to see him again. 

“I’ve been good,” he sighed, “I didn’t really want to come but now I’m glad I did since I got to see you.” He smiles again- this time, it was genuine and his big eyes turned into little crescents. Out of nowhere, he suddenly grabs your hand before he drags you to a balcony door, he pushes you inside and closes the door when he gets inside himself. 

The balconie was quite spacious and it had a roof so the rain didn’t get to the two of you. The two of you stand next to each other in silence as the rain once again accompanied the two of you, silently helping the two of you get comfortable with it’s sounds of raindrops falling to the ground.

“You look beautiful today.” Sunghoon breaks the silence between the two of you as he stared into the rain, thanking god in his head that it was already dark outside so that you couldn’t see the deep blush that was painted on his face. 

Under the dim light the moon provides the two of you with, you finally took your time to study Sunghoon. Today, he was wearing a white silk suit, his silky black hair was slick back and his plump lips looked as if they were painted with a slight red tint- making his face look even more attractive (if that was even possible).

“Thank you,” you were glad that your maids had used foundation on your face today to cover up the nasty mark your mother had given to you otherwise, Sunghoon would definitely see the red blush that crept onto your cheeks. “You look handsome today too,” You giggled as you looked down at your own outfit. “We match.” 

He looks at your outfit, staring at you with his big eyes before he looks down on his own clothes.

“We are,” he laughs as he looks back up at you. “What a coincidence.” Silence befalls the two of you once again and the rainstorm starts to slow down as you stare at each other in silence. It felt as if there were only the two of you left on the balcony and you wanted the time to stop right at this moment. You both stared at each other in silence, forgetting about everyone that was in the room behind the closed door. Just as you were about to open your mouth to talk to him, the balcony door suddenly busted open, and there stood your mother- her face was red in you didn’t know if it was embarrassment or anger and her biggest rival, Park Jaehwan standing right behind her, staring at the boy next to you in disappointment.

“What are you doing with that boy y/n.” She states rather than ask, “get over here. Now.” You don’t move, wondering why she was so angry at the moment. 

Instead of waiting for you to move, your mother walks over to you instead and wraps her hand around your forearm, her grip was tight and her nails dogged into your skin. The man behind her calmly walks to Sunghoon before he pats him on the shoulders. 

“Dad.” You turn your head in surprise and your eyes grow big.

Dad?

Sunghoon is Park Jaehwan’s son?

“What were you doing with Min Soonyeon’s daughter here?” He questions Sunghoon as he burns holes onto your skin with his stares.

“We were just…” He makes eye contact with you and you can see the gears in his head turning to come up with a lie.

“We-“

“We were just getting to know each other.” You cut through what Sunghoon was about to say and the older man glares at you while your mother’s grip on your hand tightens around your arm.

“I did not ask you girl, I asked my son here.” He tells you, his tone hostile and he turns his glare from you to your mother then back to you again. “Don’t answer what was not asked of you, it’s basic manners- but I don’t blame you, being the daughter of Soonyeon it was expected you won’t know such a thing.” 

Your mother scoffs as she pulls on your arm and hides your body with hers before she glares at the older man.

“I don’t think you should say that Jaehwan, seeing that your son couldn’t even answer a simple question.” Your mother glances at Sunghoon who was silently just staring at you before she turned her eyes back onto Jaehwan. “I can see that he got that from you Jaehwan. I must say however, he’s definitely a better man than you- at least he isn’t cocky over the stupidest things like you.” She hisses before she turns on her heels, dragging you by your arm to the balcony door.

“Let’s go y/n, we don’t want to continue to talk to these unruly men.” You look back just as you cross the door to see Sunghoon staring at you with sad eyes and he mouths a small ‘sorry’ to you. 

“It’s alright, I’m sorry about my mother.” You mouthed to him just before he disappears from your line of sight as your mother drags you out the front lobby and into your car. 

You can tell that your mother was filled to the brim with anger and you chose to shut your mouth in order to not anger her more. A small ‘ding’ comes from your phone and you bring it up to your face to check.

Sunghoon 🐧: I’m so sorry about that y/n. What my dad said to you was rude and I’m sorry you had to hear that.

You smile at the name. You bring your hand up to your phone as you begin to type your reply.

You: It’s really nothing Sunghoon, trust me, I’ve heard worse. I’m sorry about my mother, she really doesn’t have a filter for anyone. I hope you weren’t offended by that.

Sunghoon 🐧: It’s fine y/n. Really 😄 You looked really beautiful tonight y/n, I don’t remember if I’ve told you that and even if I did, I’ll say it again- you looked amazing tonight.  It was great talking to you tonight, I had fun. 😁 I have to go now, but it was really nice seeing you tonight. 

You: Thank you Sunghoon, you looked handsome as well, I almost thought you were a prince from a fairytale 😉 But it was great talking to you again, I really didn’t expect to see you at the party but I’m glad I did. Goodnight Sunghoon, sweet dreams.

You closed your phone as you stared outside to the passing buildings, watching as the rain finally stops . Your head spinning with joy and your face flushed with bright red, and a huge smile decorated your face.

What you didn’t know however was that Sunghoon on the other side of the phone was just like you- his face was red and a smile decorated his face as he talked with your friends who were still at the party, the image of you smiling in the dress you wore never leaving his mind. 

And so, when the rain stopped, the two lovestruck teenagers parted ways.

It’s been weeks since you’ve seen Sunghoon at the party, and since then the both of you have been texting non-stop over the phone. Every little thing in your everyday life was shared with Sunghoon- how your lunch had tasted that day, or how a boy spilt some coffee on you by accident, and even you helping a elderly lady across the streets, Sunghoon listened on and on- never cutting you off. He just listens quietly to you as you happily tell him everything, smiling as he realizes how happy you were that day, or he would have a frown stretched on his face in worry as he listens to you.

Sunghoon was a simple man. 

He never said much even when the two of you got closer together. He never shared much about his life like you did. He always just smiled and said a simple “It was alright” when you’d ask him about his day, or he would shake his head in denial when you’d ask him if there was something bothering him. Soon you had realized that that was just how Sunghoon is- simple, quiet.

A silent promise was made between the two of you when you had met for the fifth time under the same bus stop you and him met nearly half a year ago. It was raining- again, that day when the two of you saw each other after texting for so long without seeing each other. 

It was just like the first time you met him- he was soaked from head to toe in rainwater and you just so happened to have a spare hoodie inside your backpack. It was like meeting him for the first time all over again, but this time, a new feeling bloomed inside both of your young hearts- burning with heavy passion and love. It was so painfully obvious to the both of you what that feeling was- love.

From that day on, you both would always find yourself going to the bus station whenever it rained- it didn’t matter if you guys were doing anything, you just knew that you wanted to see each other again. 

So you go. To the same damn place that you both loved so much.

And he would always be there. Every. Single. Time. And so would you. The rainstorm never stopped either of you from going with it’s rain water, it never mattered if you were soaked in rain or that you’d get sick the next day- all you cared for at that exact moment was Sunghoon. 

The boy you fell in love with.

The quiet, gentle, and loving boy that you meet on this one rainy day by chance.

Every time it rained, the two of you would talk hours on hours about anything and everything. He would hold your hand in his larger, warmer ones, rubbing his long, thin fingers across the back of your hand in a soft, loving manner and you would lay your head on his shoulders- taking in his soft citrus scent that you grew to love so much that you searched through the entire city of Seoul to find one that only came close to the one he used. 

It always felt as if the two of you were the only ones in the world when the rain fell. You felt euphoric when you would hug inside your small world under the roof of the bus stop, and he would tell you how much he loved you. 

It might have been fast to other people, but to the two of you- it felt as if it was natural. The love you had for each other felt so strong, so obvious that even without words, passerbys could tell how much the two of you loved each other. 

But every time when the rain stopped, the two of you parted ways. As if everything was normal, as if you never knew him more than Park Sunghoon, the son of Park Jaehwan’s son, your biggest competitor in the ice skating world, and the son of your mother’s biggest rival- as if you never spilled “I love you''s to each other.

When the rain stops, so does your heart. It stops beating for anything else in the world and when the rain falls, your heart beats again- in a fast, rapid pace that you’ve never felt before unless you were with Sunghoon. 

The rain was your safe haven- for it always meant you could meet Sunghoon again. That you can run without care in the world right into the safety of his arms, and that you could stay there until the rain stops again. 

It was clear to you at this point that there was no pulling back. You were in love with the rain as well as the boy in front of you- Park Sunghoon- and there was no way you could ever stop.

Your head twists to the side as a loud slap echoed around the house you never called home. The bright, glowing red mark on your cheek stinging as you see your mother glaring at you with hatred in the corner of your eyes. You notice your dad just sitting on the couch reading his newspaper as if the scene happening in front of him didn’t;t happen at all.

“HOW DARE YOU!” Your mother screamed at you while holding your phone in her hands, your texts with Sunghoon over the years clear to everyone who walks by. “YOU’VE BEEN TALKING TO PARK JAEHWAN'S SON FOR NEARLY A YEAR BEHIND OUR BACKS?!” She screams again, her hand raised and flies down to meet your cheeks with a hard slap, turning your head to the other side.

You don’t dare look at her, too afraid to see what she looked like right now. Your mother had found out about you texting with Sunghoon when she had looked over your shoulder when you were texting him and now here she is- your phone in her death grip and she stared at you with pure hatred in her eyes.

All of the workers in the house silently watched as your mother screamed at you, too afraid of what she might do to them if they spoke up.

You tune out all of the remarks your mother was making at you and you dip your head down, staring at the pair of sneakers Sunghoon bought for you when he saw your soaked shoes one day. Since then, the both of you always exchanged little gifts with each other. And soon enough, the two of you confirmed your feelings with each other.

Although neither of you ever vocally confirmed but it was as clear as the day that you were in love and in a relationship- with all the sweet, flirty talks (that you never knew he could say) from him and all of the actions from you, the two of you made a perfect couple in other’s eyes.

But when your mother found out, she was furious- no. The word furious couldn’t even compare to what she is right now. Her face was red in anger and you could practically see smoke coming out of her nose and ears. Her eyes glared at you as if you were never her daughter and her teeth grinder against each other so hard that you were (slightly, but not really) worried that they might fall out. 

“SPEAK! YOU ARE NOT DEAF NOR ARE YOU MUTE. TALK! WHY WERE YOU TALKING TO PARK SUNGHOON?”

You didn’t answer. Knowing you’ll only get even more scolding.

Another slap was delivered to your face when you didn’t answer. This time, the slap was so hard against your head, you could feel your ears ring and your vision turned a bit blurry.

Your father must have seen you look hazy as he finally stood up from his seat on the couch and stopped your mother from slapping you again.

“Stop it now Soonyeon. That’s enough. Y/n go to your room, now. You’re not going to get any food for tonight as a punishment, and if I find any of you giving y/n food,” he pointed towards the maids, “then you will also serve a punishment.” Your father looked at you one more time as you stared at the floor, his stares burning into your skull.

He sighs, “I’m very disappointed in you y/n.” Crack. “Why can’t you just listen to us once and behave?” Crack. “Just…get out of my sight and go to your room. You need to reflect on what you’ve done.” Crack. “And you won’t be getting your phone back until you realize that you need to break up with that…that boy.” And just like that, your father breaks your heart and leaves with your mother towards his office, leaving you alone in the living room.

All of the workers that were just watching rushes up to you to check up and help you. Asking you left and right about how you were feeling, if you needed ice or face cream for your cheeks. You ignore all of them and head right into your room, closing your door loudly, surprising everyone who was in the house.

Tears formed in your eyes as you thought about what your father said. About how he was disappointed in you and that you never behaved the way they wanted you to- even though all you ever did growing up was doing everything they ask (or rather ordered) you to do, wishing for nothing more than a single compliment from them or maybe a single hug from them.

But as you began to grow up, you realized how those things that was normal to everyone else were something impossible for you to get. Your parents only ever cared about their business and their status. Never did they really care about you or your happiness. If they really did, then they would have noticed how happy you sounded when you were texting Sunghoon, or how you were getting happier day by day when you were with Sunghoon- but ah, of course they didn’t. They don’t even care anyways.

Grabbing your old phone from your bedside cabinet, you text Sunghoon with your old number (which he saved for emergencies like these!).

You: Hey Sunghoon, let’s meet up later tonight.

Sunghoonie💞: sure, but are you okay? Why are you texting like that? Is something bothering you?

You smile, feeling giddy to know that Sunghoon could notice these little things about you, but your smile drops as you realize what you needed to tell him later.

You: Um, yeah. I need to tell you something, and I’d rather tell you in person…

Sunghoonie💞: Of course, anything for you. Same place at same time?

You: yeah, like always.

Sunghoonie💞: alright, remember to bring an umbrella tonight, the forecast said it might rain tonight. I love you ❤️

Your heart skips a beat.

You: Thanks Hoonie, you too. I love you too ❤️

You put down your phone and you let out a big sigh. Why did the world hate you so much?

You wait in the bus stop with two cups of hot coffee in your hands. 

And somehow, although it was in the middle of winter right now, it was still raining. 

You sit under the dimly lit bus station as you wait for Sunghoon to show up. The sky was dark, and the streets were empty and silent. You watched silently as the raindrops fell to the ground in front of you, as you waited, and waited, and waited…but he didn't show up.

It’s been hours since the promised time, and yet he hasn’t shown up. You put down the now cold cups of coffee to check your phone to see if you had missed a message from him or something- but there was nothing. He hasn’t even read your latest message that was sent two hours ago. 

Feeling discouraged and cold, you throw the two cold cups of coffee in the nearest trash can as an ambulance speed passes you, in a rush to get to the hospital as fast as they could. Somehow, your heart felt heavy at that moment, as if it was telling you- warning you about something, but you ignored it and started to make your way home.

The rain never stopped. It didn’t stop when you sneaked out the door of your house, it didn’t stop when you got to the station, and it didn’t stop when you were waiting- fuck, it’s still raining now as you walked back home under the same umbrella Sunghoon carried that one day you guys met. The same one that was black and white, the same one that Sunghoon hid behind his backpack when he met you for the third time under the same bus station you were just at. 

As you walked your mind kept going over all of the possibilities of why Sunghoon didn’t come. Maybe he was caught by his parents? Or maybe he had something to do last minute? 

You walked slowly through the dimly lit streets, your head in the clouds but you never noticed the two shadows that were slowly creeping up behind you. 

Before you could even scream, your mouth was covered by a large dirty hand and before you could even process what was happening, you were dragged into a dark alleyway, leaving your (or Sunghoon’s) umbrella on the ground. 

“Give us everything on you. Right now.” A hoarse voice calls out beside you and a cold, sharp object pricks your side. Tears rush to your eyes as you begin to shake- terrified for your life, but you don’t move, cold rain drops making your clothes and hair wet.

“I said give me everything on you right. Now!” The man in front of you whisper-yelled, afraid of waking up the neighborhood if he was too loud.

You don’t move, still frozen in fear but a quick, hard slap to your face snaps you out of it.

I don’t wanna die.

You think to yourself. 

I still have so many things I want to do. I don’t wanna die. 

With a shaky hand, you begin to remove all of the jewelry on you- the earrings you got from your parents when you reached adulthood and the ring you had gotten from your grandmother. You remove your purse from your shoulder before you handed everything to the two thieves. 

“Please-please just let me go now, I pro-promise I won’t tell anyone!” Your words shuddered over one another and your voice was shaky, anyone could tell that you were absolutely terrified right now, but the two don’t move.

“We want that too.” The man beside you tells you and he reaches out to touch the necklace on your neck. You shrink yourself away from him, terrified of what he was going to do.

“No! You-you can’t take this! Anything but this!” You yelled at them before they slapped you again making you quickly slap your mouth. 

“Shut up you bitch! Do you want to die? Now give us that necklace!” The man in front of you yells while he tries to take the necklace of you himself.

“No!” You try to get away from the man’s hold. 

The necklace was something you can not ever give away. It was the first ever gift you had received from Sunghoon, and you didn’t want to ever give it to the filthy criminals that were in front of you.

“Ugh, you bitch! Just give it to us and we’ll leave you alone!” The man beside you tells you as he also joins in the small fight between the man and you for your necklace.

A sudden strike of pain hits you on the side and everything stops.

Slowly, you lose the energy to stand up on your own and you drop down to the floor, a warm, wet substance soaking the back of your shirt, the salty drops of rain hitting your face directly. The two men quickly run away, grabbing all the stuff that you had previously given them when they hear a man shout at the beginning of the alleyway., but not bothering to take your necklace anymore.

Everything felt hazy now, and you couldn’t see anything with your vision bury and black spots filling your vision. You could hear a muffled voice of a man calling for help from you don’t know who, but you could feel your body getting lighter and lighter. The calming sensation of laying on the ground and the cold rain hitting your warm body takes over, and you close your eyes. 

Am I dying?

Who are you kidding, of course you were. There was no way you weren’t. A stinging pain was pounding against your left side where one of the men had a knife against you, and it doesn't take a genius to know what happened- even if you were starting to feel more and more sleepy.

Knowing yourself that you’ve already bled too much and that there was no saving you anymore, you let your mind rest and just think about all of the happy things you’ve been through in life- but there were no signs of your parents.

Instead, all you could see when you closed your eyes was the face of your lover. The very man that your parents wanted you to stay away from- the very man you were going to break up with tonight. The man you loved with your whole heart- Park Sunghoon.

His smile, his laugh, all of his small habits, all of the time the two of you skated together, and all of the time you talked under the bus station flew through your mind like a record. All of the happy memories in your too short of a lifetime plays in the matter of a few minutes inside your head, and you do nothing else other than smile when you feel hands over your body, placing you on a soft bed and into an ambulance.

I love you.

You think as tears slowly seeps through the corner of your eyes.

I love you Sunghoon. 

His face shows up inside your head again.

Thank you for loving me.

Your hand drops.

And the rain stopped.

Your parents run into the emergency room frantically, both of their hearts heavy with both guilt and worry.

“How is she Doctor?! She’s okay right?” Your mother asks ina. Hurry, not even caring about her image anymore, tears gathered in her eyes as she held onto your father’s arms for support. Your father’s face was void of any emotions but his eyes betrayed him with them over spilling with worry.

Your doctor shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry but the patient had already died when she was on her way to the hospital. I couldn’t do anything for her any more. I’m sorry for your loss. Y/n l/n, time of death; December 8th, 00:13am.” He explains before bowing his head and leaving.

Your mother breaks down in tears as she drops down to the floor, guilt filling her entire body.

If only she didn’t yell at you. 

If only she didn’t tell you that you were a disappointment.

If only she didn’t tell you to break up with Sunghoon.

If only she told you she loved you.

Your father stands still as a tear finally runs down one of his eyes. All of the memories of you played over and over again in his mind, from when he first held you in his arms the time when you said your first words, you walking by yourself for the first time, and all of the other things he wished he treasured more when he still had time.

The two of them walked out the door to the emergency room as your body was rolled out with a white blanket on your face by the nurses. Your mother cried even more seeing your body, knowing that everything that happened to you was mostly her fault.

Not far from where your parents stood, another pair of grieving parents were crying over their now dead child. 

“This is all your fault!” The woman screamed at her husband. “If you never yelled at him or tried to control him he would’ve never been there!”

The woman breaks down again, as her husband looks down in shame, guilt, and sadness. His only child, his only son was now dead because he tried to make him break up with his beloved. 

Sunghoon was now dead because of him.

If only he didn’t yell Sunghoon earlier, then he wouldn’t have tried to meet up with y/n. If he didn’t try to meet with y/n, then he never would’ve died.

Then he would never have been hit by a car. 

Maybe it was all because of the two family’s selfishness that led to their only child’s death or perhaps this is just how their story was about to end. 

The boy who tried to get to the girl he loved in order to satisfy his father by breaking her heart and the girl who tried to meet with the boy she loved to break his heart. In order to be the good girl her family wanted her to be. 

Perhaps it was fate that they both died trying to meet, or maybe they were just never meant to be together and the stars decided to punish them. 

How ironic was it that they had both got into an accident near each other, and died on their birthday at the same time? 

How ironic that it was their love that led to their own deaths? 

How ironic was it, that when the two died, the rain finally stopped?

Mayhaps this was their fate, to fall in love and die. Or maybe, this was all just some kind of sick joke that god played.

Either way, when the rain stopped, two young lovers parted ways. Even death itself could not keep them away. 

Hopefully, through their deaths they can finally find their own happiness.

When the rain stops, two lovers parted ways, both of them on their way to meet each other once again at the gates of heaven.

@ junjungsunwoo, all rights reserved. 

[ppangjae]

SEVEN LETTERS | Jaehyun

SEVEN LETTERS | THE STORY UNTOLD (SEQUEL)

SUMMARY. On a camping trip, you find a message in a bottle that’s been washed up the shore, only to find out that it’s a message from you in the future. Your message tells you three things:

You must make Jeong Jaehyun fall in love with you because,

He’s your soulmate and

Because of your future self’s mistake, he ended up falling in love with someone else.

GENRE. soulmate!au | childhood friends to lovers!au | slight fake dating!au | fluff | angst

important note: the text from the letters are in bold

WORD COUNT. 10.1k+ words (BIG oof)

author’s note. here she is 🥺 this didn’t take too long to write out, which is very surprising. it is extremely impossible for me to write a 10k fic over the course of two days. i think i’m just really ingested in soulmate!aus and it just triggers so much imagination and creativity. anyways, enough of my ramble, i hope you enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it! also, it’s unedited so if there are any mistakes, i’m apologizing in advance!

It would be an utter lie for you to say that Jeong Jaehyun didn’t have a tiny little spot reserved for him in your heart. It was like he packed your feelings for him in a suitcase and brought it along with him on the trip to your heart. But just like that tiny spot you have for him in your heart, your courage to tell him how you feel is just as tiny. Maybe a bit tinier.

But you think you’re okay with it. You’re fine with how you and Jaehyun are right now.

Endearing gazes. Lingering looks. Skipped heartbeats. Flushed cheeks. Unspoken words and thoughts—

“The water’s cold!”

You snap out of your thoughts, looking to your right to see Jaehyun jumping up and down in the water. Fortunately and unfortunately, he has a shirt on. He’s shivering with his teeth clattering. You let out a snort, shaking your head.

“Jaehyun, get over here and change your shirt before you catch a cold!” You both hear his mother scolding him. The both of you share a look before bursting into laughter.

“Yes, mother.” He sighs, heading back up the shore before his mother gets even more angry than she already is. You watch him as he walks past you, flicking some water in your face to tease you.

“Hey!” You exclaim, wiping the droplets of water that hit your cheeks.

As you’re left all alone by the lake, you take off your sunglasses to get a nice look at the sunrise. The sun is blinding but it provides much warmth that seeps into your skin.

This camp trip is a yearly event where your family and Jaehyun’s family would get together and travel up to the cottage. It was something you and Jaehyun looked forward to every year. The both of you would be sent off to university in two different cities before coming back for the summer to spend it together at the cottage. It’s the highlight of your summer. It’s been the highlight of your summer for 18 years.

You kick off your sandals before taking a few steps into the lake. The water sure is cold, you think to yourself. When your feet are submerged in the water at ankle’s height, you look up to notice a light glare in the lake. You squint your eyes.

“What the fuck is that?” You ask yourself as the object is floating closer towards you.

The closer it floats to you, the more you make out of it. It reaches your foot and your eyebrows raise in surprise. “A message in a bottle? These things still exist?”

You’re about to call Jaehyun to tell him what you’ve found until you notice your name written in large, capital letters on the message. Your eyes slightly widen. Slowly bending down, you grab the bottle. You’re just about to pry the cap of the bottle open until—

“Y/N, your mother’s looking for you.” You hear Jaehyun say. You freeze in your spot, shoving the bottle into your hoodie before zipping it up. You slowly turn around, quirking an eyebrow. “She needs help baking the cookies. You said your roommate gave you her famous recipe?”

“Right! Thanks.” You fake a smile, rushing past him and patting his shoulder.

Jaehyun turns around and looks at you confusedly.

“Y/N, did you bring your roommate’s cookie recipe—”

“I texted it to you just now.” You cut your mother off as you rush into the cottage, heading straight to the bathroom. Your mother purses her lips into a tight line, grabbing her phone before uttering a soft ‘thank you, honey!’.

Gently closing the door shut, you lean against the door. You unzip your hoodie to grab the bottle. You’re curious as to why your name is written on the piece of paper. It causes you to pry the cap open, flying it into the sink. The cap rolls around in a circle before stopping right above the drain. You pull out the letter and indeed, your name is written on it. As you unravel the paper, your hands start to clammer.

Y/N,

You’re probably wondering who I am and why your name is written on this piece of paper. I am you from the future. Fate brought my message to you and you’re getting this message for an important reason. Take in a deep breath before reading the rest of this letter.

You’re in complete disbelief. Your shoulders slump and you slowly slide down the door. Is this even possible? Is this some sort of prank? A joke? But the handwriting in your letter looks exactly like your handwriting, making it all a bit more believable. You continue to read.

Jeong Jaehyun is your soulmate. Yes, that dorky little dude who’s your best friend? Yes, he’s your soulmate. You know that you’re in love with him. Don’t even try to lie. In case you were wondering, yes, you will still be in love with him in the future. But there’s a huge problem and I need you to fix it to prevent yourself from experiencing regret for the rest of your life.

As I am writing you this letter, Jeong Jaehyun is in love with someone else. He did not fall in love with you; his soulmate. He’s getting married in a couple a months. In order to rewrite the future, I want you to remember three things:

You MUST make Jeong Jaehyun fall in love with you because,

He is your soulmate and

Because of my mistake, he ended up falling in love with someone else.

You run a hand through your hair. This is too much for you. It’s all coming at you in full force. This is too much information for you to process in one sitting. You’ve already done so much at university, you don’t need any more stress for the rest of the summer. Besides, you just got here. You continue to finish reading the letter.

I am counting on you, past self. I don’t want you to live the rest of your life heartbroken, knowing that Jaehyun is in love with someone else, knowing that he’s getting married with another woman that isn’t his soulmate, and knowing that he will start a family with her and spend the rest of his life with her.

Don’t turn out like me, past Y/N. You’ll regret it.

Now go and rewrite your fate.

It’s what you deserve.

Good luck,

Future Y/N.

You let out a scoff.

Great. Now what?

“Are these the famous cookies your roommate makes?”

Jaehyun sniffs the freshly baked cookies and reaches out to grab one for himself. His mother swats his hand away and he lets out a yelp of pain. Your mother enters the dining room with another tray of freshly baked cookies and sets it down on the table. She hands you the other tray that’s already been cooled down.

“Why are you giving me this? I can’t finish all of this in one sitting.” You chuckle as you take the tray from her anyway.

“It’s not for you.” Your mother nods her head out the window. “It’s for the new neighbours. They just moved into the cottage. You know, the cottage that was being built last summer?”

“I was wondering why the cottage didn’t look so familiar,” Jaehyun mumbles with a mouthful of cookies.

“Want to come?” You ask him.

He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t see why not.”

The both of you are heading towards the cottage. Jaehyun’s busy admiring the layout of their patio while you’re putting on your best girl next door smile. Jaehyun knocks on the door and it takes a couple of seconds for someone to open the door for you.

“Oh—hi!” It’s a woman who looks like she’s around your age. She’s wearing sweats and a hoodie, but she has a warm, welcoming smile that makes you feel a bit uncomfortable. “I’m guessing you’re our neighbours.”

“We are, yes,” Jaehyun beats you to it. You glare at him but he barely catches it. You raise an eyebrow out of curiosity, following his trance that’s landed on the girl. Your eyes squint. “We baked you some cookies, please take them, it’s my recipe—”

“Uh, your recipe?” You scoff and he gives you a warning look. “What? Why are you looking at me like that—”

“Your recipe? Oh, I’m sure they’re delicious.” She cuts you off. She gently grabs the tray from you and you fake a smile. “I’m Yeona. I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other this summer.”

“I’m Y/N—”

“I’m Jaehyun!” He cuts you off again.

You frown.

“Nice to meet you, Jaehyun and,” Yeona smiles while giggling. “Y/N.”

“If you need anything, you can always let us know.” Jaehyun grins. “If you’re feeling bored, you could always hang out with us—”

“Nice to meet you too, Yeona!” You throw your arm over Jaehyun’s shoulder, weighing your arm heavily on it. He gives you an irritated look. “I hope we can make great memories this summer.”

“You guys are such a cute couple.” Yeona chuckles.

Your smile is wiped off your face. “Oh, no, we’re not dating—”

“I think we’re a cute couple too.”

“What?” You blurt out. “We’re not—”

When you look at him, his eyes meet yours. He gives you a ‘play along’ look and you find yourself clearing your throat and putting up an act. You fake a laugh, nodding your head.

“We are! Yes, we are dating—we’ve actually—we’ve been together for a year now!” You exclaim, thinking of all the ways you could kill Jaehyun in his sleep.

“We’ll get going. It was nice meeting you, Yeona.” Jaehyun smiles.

Yeona watches the two of you as you interlock fingers and walk down the sidewalk back to your cottage. You’re this close to kicking Jaehyun in the shin until you both get back to your cottage. Once Jaehyun shuts the door, you slap him in the arm.

“Ow! What was that for—”

“Since when were we dating?”

He lets out a laugh. “I just find her really cute and so I figured—”

“You figured that the only way to make her interested in you is by pretending that you’re—”

“Taken?” He finishes it off for you. “By you? Yes. I figured it would be the only way.”

“Why are men so dumb?” You sigh annoyingly, pondering on whether you should start pulling your hair off of your scalp. “Why are men so dense?”

“It’ll only be for the summer—”

“That’s exactly the problem! We’ll be fake dating for the whole summer. I don’t want to be playing pretend and be boo boo the fool for a whole summer.” You argue. “I want to go fishing. I want to go hiking. I want to go swimming! The last thing I ever wanted is to fake date you—”

“Well, too bad. The damage has already been done.” Jaehyun smirks. “Besides, we probably won’t have to put up the act for the whole summer. I’m going to fake dump you for her—”

“You like her?” You blurt out.

“Yes. I like her. I find her really close to my ideal type—”

“Do you think she’s going to date you after finding out that those cookies that she’s probably eating right now are not from your recipe?” You test him. He clamps his mouth shut. “Exactly.”

“It’s not bad to be hopeful—”

“And it’s not bad to just tell her that you like her either.” You fold your arms until you remember something important. And it comes in the form of your own handwritten letter.

You MUST make Jeong Jaehyun fall in love with you because he is your soulmate and because of my mistake, he ended up falling in love with someone else.

“Should I just do that?”

You snap out of it. “Do what?”

“Just tell her that I like her and that we were just joking about us dating—”

“No!” You exclaim with your eyes widened like saucers.

“Why not?”

“Because—” You start, trying to look for the right words to say. “Because you’ve already made a huge mess and if you tell her the truth, the chances of her liking you back will be lower.”

Jaehyun stands there as if he’s deep in thought. You fold your arms, waiting for him to say something—

“You’re right. You’re a genius!”

You think you’re going to get a headache.

Three weeks pass when you get your second letter from your future self. You’re cooped up in your own room, holding the piece of paper in your hands with your eyes reading each word from left to right. Just like the first letter, the second one comes to you in a bottle that’s been washed up to shore. You found it just in time when you stepped outside to get a breath of fresh air.

Y/N,

Remember this specific date: July 31st.

Also, I’m sure you’ve met Yeona at this point. Believe me when I tell you this, Jaehyun has the biggest crush on her. He’s not joking around. He’s truly in love with her. She is the embodiment of his ideal type.

You grab your phone to check the date. It’s July 31st. The letter came right on time. At least your future self is still organized. You were afraid that your future self would grow lazy.

On that day, Jaehyun will ask you to go to the beach.

There’s a knock at the door. “Who is it?”

“Jaehyun, duh.”

You neatly fold the letter before placing it underneath your pillow. “Come in.”

He opens the door and pokes his head through. “My mother cooked breakfast. Let’s go down to eat.”

As you’re getting off of your bed, you notice how he looks hesitant to ask you something. You put on your house slippers and as you reach up to him, you look at him questioningly.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He will ask you this because he knows that Yeona will be going to the beach. He’ll try to convince you by saying that the weather’s nice—

“Do you want to go to the beach today? The weather’s nice today, we should take advantage of it.”

I want you to tell him this— “Let’s go to the fair instead. I heard it just opened up yesterday.”

He will try to convince you to go to the beach instead. Don’t give in. “You don’t want to go to the beach? Didn’t you say you wanted to go swimming? Tanning?”

“But we always go to the fair. Besides, this year, they’re only open for a week.” Just keep suggesting somewhere else to go.

It will work. “They’re only open for a week this year?”

You slowly nod your head. “Unfortunately.”

Trust me. “We should probably just go to the fair instead, then, huh?”

You smile.

“We should.”

“What if we bump into Yeona?”

Jaehyun glances at you. You know that the both of you won’t bump into Yeona, for she is going to the beach instead. He shrugs his shoulders as the ticket vendor is wrapping a one-day wristband on his wrist. The both of you enter the annual fair and it immediately brings you memories of last summer and the summers before that.

“We should probably hold hands then,” he mumbles softly.

You look up at him. “Huh?”

“We should be prepared in case we bump into Yeona.” Jaehyun suggests.

He doesn’t give you a chance to say anything and grabs your hand. Your hand fits perfectly in his, especially when your fingers interlock. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. Who knew that the smallest thing to do like holding Jaehyun’s hand would turn out to be the biggest deal to you?

“Your hands are sweaty.” You mumble, trying to stop yourself from heating up.

“It’s pretty hot outside, huh?”

“Yeah, it sure is.” You bite your lip.

He grins. “Yeah, your cheeks are really red because of the heat.”

“Are they?” You gasp, letting go of his hand to cover your cheeks.

He chuckles. “It’s cute.”

Your hands slowly fall back to your sides. “Cute?”

He hums in reply, avoiding eye contact. He grabs your hand and interlocks your fingers. His ears are turning red, just like your rosy red cheeks.

“Why did you want to go to the beach?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I heard Yeona will be going.”

“Do you,” you begin until you hesitate. “Do you like her?”

He nods. You’re not sure what to say or feel. But there’s one thing you’re sure of.

“I like her a lot.”

Jaehyun’s whipped for her.

The fair will be packed. “It’s quite busy today, huh?”

Jaehyun nods. “I think it’s because they’re only open for a week.”

You won’t bump into Yeona. In fact, you and Jaehyun will have the best day ever. Enjoy it while it lasts.

“What ride should we go on first?” He asks.

Your eyes scan the rides that await you. Your eyes land on one of the rollercoasters a few metres away. It’s right across from the Ferris wheel.

Don’t forget to have fun. This is your first chance to make him fall in love with you.

“Let’s ride the rollercoaster!”

And so as you’re lining up to ride the rollercoaster, you look down at your hands. Your hands fit perfectly together, don’t you think?

You could definitely get used to this.

“I have two seats left for this ride!” One of the operators announce and you’re shooting your arm up into the air.

“We’ll take those seats!”

“Great. Just come on over!” The both of you are rushing to your seats and buckling in your seatbelts. Jaehyun’s still holding your hands.

“Enjoy your ride!”

At the end of the day, Jaehyun will ask you if you want to ride the Ferris Wheel.

“The sun is starting to set.” You point at the sun.

Jaehyun smiles. “We should probably ride the Ferris Wheel. Do you want to ride it?”

I want you to say— “Sure. I’d love that.”

And he will make up some stupid excuse like— “Great. I want to take pictures of the sunset. I think I’ll get a good shot of the sunset when we’re at the top of the Ferris Wheel.”

Thus, the both of you are hopping onto one of the carts. You’re sitting right across from him. In romance movies, Ferris Wheel rides always lead up to the character’s undying love confession to the love interest when they reach the top of the ride. You could definitely see how it will never happen, especially when Jaehyun’s too busy taking pictures of the fucking sunset.

Don’t get your hopes up too high. It’s not going to feel romantic. And it sure isn’t. You’re sitting there, texting your roommate to compliment her cookie recipe that your mother can’t seem to stop baking. You can hear the faint clicking sounds coming from Jaehyun’s phone.

“Y/N—”

“Yeah?” You look up from your phone to hear a soft ‘click!’

But there is one thing that will happen and it will stir up Jaehyun’s heart. You guess this is it. He stares at the screen of his phone for a brief moment before slowly looking up at you.

“Did you just take a picture of me?”

He will make up another stupid excuse by saying— “Yes, I did. I think it’ll be a good picture to use for your Tinder or something. I’ll send it to you.”

“Why, you little—”

“Sent it!”

You look down at your phone to look at the candid photo Jaehyun texted you. While you’re busy looking at the photo and whining over how Jaehyun took the worst angle of your face, you barely notice how Jaehyun’s staring at the same photo but on his phone.

There’s a soft smile beginning to spread across his lips. In the photo, you’re looking at him with doe-eyes. You’re glowing because the sun is facing you. You look… beautiful. Why is he studying the photo longer than he should?

He sets it as his lockscreen.

The third letter from your future self comes a couple of days after you and Jaehyun spent a day at the town fair. But this time, it doesn’t come in a bottle. This time, you find it in your mailbox after your mother asked you to check if she or Jaehyun’s mother had any mail. It’s quite alarming, but it was like you were destined to check the mail that morning.

“Any mail for us?”

You shake your head. “Nope. I’ll head back to bed, I’m still a bit tired.”

Your letter is tucked underneath your bra and once you arrive in your room, you pull it out. You sit against your door, ripping the letter open to see your handwriting.

Y/N,

On August 14th, Yeona and her family will come over for dinner. You and Jaehyun will continue to put up your fake dating act. But it won’t be for long.

After your dinner, Jaehyun will tell Yeona the truth. I don’t remember what his excuse was, but I do remember Yeona feeling relieved because at that very moment, she will confess to him.

You will feel like shit. I’m not even going to sugarcoat it. But there is one thing I want you to do, and that is to stop them from kissing out on the front porch.

That shit hurt like a buttcheek on a stick and I don’t want you to experience it.

“Y/N, make sure to wake up before five because the Kims are coming over for dinner!”

You let out a frustrated sigh. You read the last few words from the letter before crumbling it up into a paper ball. You aim for the trash can near your bedside table.

Things get better and I will make sure that they get better.

The paper ball goes into the trash can perfectly. Swish.

Trust me.

The Kims arrive right on the dot with a tray of lasagna and a bowl of what seems like potato salad. You find it hilarious how Jaehyun’s dressed up with an odd mixture of casual and formal clothing. He has his hair slicked back with hair gel and he’s wearing his best white button-up shirt with.. pink house slippers?

You’re not sure what kind of look he was going for, but Yeona doesn’t seem to mind.

“Come on in! Let’s eat!”

Everything is laid out on the dining table. Yeona looks at the two of you with suspicion as Jaehyun sits next to her and not you. You look at Jaehyun confusedly and he barely notices. You take a quick look underneath the table to see Jaehyun’s foot and you give it a gentle kick. He jumps in his seat, glaring at you.

“I’ll switch seats with Y/N,” Yeona chuckles softly. “It’d be best for the couple to sit next to each other, right?”

Your mother and Jaehyun’s mother share a confused look before bursting out into giggles. Your mother shakes her head, waving her hand. “Oh no, sweetheart, they’re not dating—”

“We are—” Jaehyun tries to cut your mother off but he stops himself when his mother gives him a warning look.

You begin to panic. “I—we just started dating two weeks ago—”

Yeona frowns. “But I thought you’ve been dating each other for a year—”

“Let’s eat, shall we?” Jaehyun insists, flashing an uneasy, nervous smile.

You shouldn’t be feeling embarrassed. In fact, Jaehyun was the one who brought you into this mess. From your future self, you know that the truth will be exposed during dinner with the Kims. But you weren’t prepared for this.

“I’m so confused.” Yeona looks at the both of you.

“Yeona, can we—I can explain—can we please talk outside?” Jaehyun asks, moreso pleads.

She looks at him with a wavering glance. “S-Sure. We can talk.”

The dinner continues and there’s nothing but tension and awkwardness in the room. You’re left all alone with the adults as Yeona and Jaehyun step outside to have a talk. You’re picking at your asparagus and steak, pondering on whether you should stuff your face as if it’ll make you disappear into thin air. You could feel burning stares from your mother and your eyes meet hers. She’s looking at you like she demands an explanation but all you could do is shrug your shoulders and wince.

“So, Yeona’s in third year university like Jaehyun and Y/N?” Jaehyun’s mother tries to change the atmosphere.

Yeona’s parents nod and flash a small smile. “She’s studying Economics.”

“Wow,” Jaehyun’s father muses. “I guess Yeona and I will get along quite well.”

“Really?” Yeona’s mother says.

His father nods. “I graduated from an Economics program. If she has any questions throughout her undergrad, she can definitely ask me.”

You’re starting to feel insecure.

“Let me just say that Yeona is very beautiful, just like you.” Jaehyun’s mother tells Yeona’s mother, who lets out a giggle.

“Oh, that’s very flattering to hear. I try my best to stay young. But it’s nice to see that it’s been passed down to Yeona.”

Jaehyun’s mother smiles. “She grew up very well.”

You will feel like shit. I’m not even going to sugarcoat it.

Hell, you weren’t sure how bad it was going to be but now you know. You feel like utter shit. This isn’t even your fault. If Jaehyun didn’t lead you into this mess, you wouldn’t be feeling this way. You wouldn’t be sitting in the midst of a conversation between adults, feeling like you’re invisible. Your insecurities wouldn’t be getting the best of you.

You slowly get up from your seat. “Sorry, excuse me, I’m going to get some fresh air.”

They don’t even notice your absence. Your feet somehow drag you to the front porch, where Jaehyun and Yeona are having their talk.

But there is one thing I want you to do, and that is to stop them from kissing out on the front porch.

That shit hurt like a buttcheek on a stick and I don’t want you to experience it.

Your eyebrows raise. You shut your eyes, mustering up all the courage. Your hand grabs the doorknob and you open the door just in time to see Jaehyun and Yeona leaning in. They pull away from each other and look at you with surprise.

You fake a gasp. “Oh, sorry! I—I just wanted to see if everything was okay.”

“I—”

“I’m so sorry.” You apologize again, closing the door.

You lean against the door and feel your eyes well up with tears.

Even though the kiss didn’t happen, it still hurt.

It still hurt like a buttcheek on a stick.

The fourth letter from your future self comes from you on your last day at the cottage. Jaehyun and Yeona are officially dating and they plan on maintaining a long distance relationship when Yeona flies back to London for university. Spending the rest of your summer heartbroken felt like shit. You’re kind of glad that summer is over and you don’t have to spend any more days at the cottage in nothing but the comfort of your room.

The letter arrives in the mail, just like the third letter.

“Is this the last bag?”

You shove the letter into your pocket. Jaehyun looks at you suspiciously, specifically at your pocket. He’s holding your duffle bag packed with your clothes. You nod your head. “Yeah, that’s the last bag.”

“What’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing!” You blurt out.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” He walks past you to place your duffle bag into the trunk of your car. He dusts his hands off.

“It’s nothing, I swear.” You reassure him.

You feel your heart stop when Jaehyun starts poking your sides to tickle you. You feel his hand sneak into your pocket to grab the letter. He has it in his hands and he’s just about to read the writing on the envelope when you snatch it from him.

“Hey, is that a love letter?” He grins, reaching out to snatch the letter from you.

You gasp. “No! Jaehyun! Please give it back. It’s not for you to see—”

He’s waving the envelope in the air and you’re jumping up and down to get it from him. He’s continuing to wave it in the air until you jump too high. When your feet land on the ground, you stumble and place your hands on his shoulders to prevent yourself from falling over. He wraps his other arm around your waist to stop you from falling over. The both of you freeze up.

You slowly look up to see him looking at you with an expression you can’t seem to make out. His hand that’s holding the letter is still in the air. The both of you stare into each other’s eyes, trying to read each other’s looks. His eyes trail down to your lips, which are inches away from his. You’re the first one to snap out of it, pulling away from him.

You reach up to snatch the letter from him. He looks at you with a daze.

“Sorry.” He says softly.

“Is everything packed up?”

You don’t say anything to him. You turn around to see your mother locking the door to the cottage. You realize that everyone, except your mother, witnessed what had just happened between you and Jaehyun. You feel your cheeks heat up again.

“Well, I guess summer’s over.” Your mother sighs sadly. “I can’t wait until we see each other for Christmas, though!”

“Jaehyun, are you sure you packed everything?”

Jaehyun looks at his father who’s seated in the driver’s seat with his head poking out the window. He nods his head. “I’m one hundred percent sure.”

“I guess this is it. See you guys later.” Your mother says.

There’s no such thing as goodbye hugs when it comes to your families. That’s because you know you will see each other eventually.

You turn back around to face Jaehyun. He’s still looking at you with that look you can’t read.

“I’ll see you later, dork.” You mumble, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

“You better kick ass at school.” He points at you as the both of you head to your cars.

“You too.”

“I’ll miss you, dork.” He adds.

“Me too, loser.”

And man, the moment you hop into your car, you’re already missing him a bit too much.

You almost forget about the fourth letter.

You remember the letter when you reach the gas station. Your parents are inside the convenience store for a washroom break. You rip the envelope open to see a small piece of paper. The letter is short this time, you note.

Y/N,

It’s been a while since I wrote you the last letter. You’re probably on your way back home from the cottage. You’re probably missing Jaehyun already. 

I’m writing this letter to you a bit too early. You can definitely come back and read this letter again when the day is near. 

December 24th. Christmas Eve. You and Jaehyun will be home just in time for Christmas. You will have the usual Christmas Eve dinner with the Jeongs. 

However, your train ride back to the city will be delayed. Jaehyun will be the one to pick you up at the train station. This is your second chance to make him fall in love with you because on Christmas Eve, it will be the first snowfall of the season. 

Now, what is the significance of the first snowfall of the season, you ask?

As your mother hops into the car, you fold the letter and subtly put it inside of your pocket. “Mom, can I ask you something?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“What’s so special about the first snowfall of the winter season?” You ask. 

She lets out a snort. “You’re twenty-one and you don’t know what the first snowfall means? Gosh, you’re so inexperienced when it comes to dating.”

You chuckle. “What does it mean?”

“Have you noticed the brutal amount of couples out on dates on the first snowfall of the season?” 

You shake your head. “Now that you’ve mentioned it, I realized there are a big amount of couples out that day.”

She hums in reply. “They say that if you are planning on confessing your love to your crush, you should do it on the first snowfall. Not only is it romantic, but confessions that are made that day are always reciprocated.”

“Always?”

She smiles. “I claim this first hand because your father confessed to me on the first snowfall.”

December 24th. 

Your future self proves to be right. You’re sitting in your seat, looking out of the window. The sky that was bright and blue when you hopped on the train is now dark. You can see the stars scattered across the sky. A couple of minutes later, the train operator announces that there is a huge delay and the arrival time will be an hour later than the expected time on your ticket. 

You sigh. As you’re pulling out the letter to give it one last read, your phone buzzes in your pocket. 

“Hello?”

“Y/N, your parents told me that your train has been delayed.”

You smile at the sound of Jaehyun’s voice on the other line of the phone call. “Yeah, my father’s going to pick me up so there’s nothing to worry—”

“I already insisted on picking you up instead. What time are you expected to arrive?” He asks. 

You feel your heart flutter. “You’re going to pick me up?”

“Of course. I missed you, you twat. Also, we have to make a quick stop at the diner for your favourite cheesecake. They said that they’ll be open until midnight.” He replies. 

“I almost forgot about that.” You chuckle. “I’m expected to arrive around ten. Are you sure you’re okay with picking me up?”

“I’m more than sure.” You can hear him smile. “I’ll see you at ten. Is there anything you want me to bring?”

“Just you.” You laugh. “And the car, of course.”

“Well, duh. We wouldn’t want to walk home with your heavy ass luggage, now would we?”

“Shut up.” He’s tugging at your heartstrings. “I’ll see you at ten, Jaehyun.”

As you’re hanging up on him, you turn the letter around to finish the last part of the letter that you haven’t read yet. You specifically left the last part to read on the day of because you were afraid you would forget what to do. 

There’s something really crucial that you have to do. If you mess this up, everything will be put at risk. As I said, this is your second chance to make Jaehyun fall in love with you. 

An hour goes by faster than you expected. You’re hopping off the train with your luggage. As you’re stepping out of the train station, you’re searching for a familiar car in the parking lot. 

“Y/N!”

This is completely off topic but Jaehyun will look really cute. He will be sporting a scarf that covers half of his face. He will look extremely cuddly and soft. 

“Jaehyun!”

When he reaches up to you, it will start to snow. 

Indeed, as Jaehyun is a metre away from you, you start to see snowflakes falling from the sky. You can hear your mother’s words echo in your head. First snowfall and love confessions. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. You’re not sure whether it's the cold wind or Jaehyun’s presence that’s making your cheeks red. You’d like to think it’s the former. 

Jaehyun will stop to look up at the sky. He will say— “It’s snowing!”

“The first snowfall of the season.” You add, letting out a soft giggle. “Long time no see, dork.”

The first snowfall of the season will remind him of Yeona. A frown will threaten to spread across his lips but he won’t let it show. That’s because him and Yeona have been going through a rough patch in their long distance relationship. But he won’t tell you this until after the Christmas dinner when you’re both a little tipsy from the beer. 

You won’t get drunk with him tonight because things will turn out different this time. However, I want you to ask him this— “Do you know what the first snowfall of the season means?”

He will answer with— “First snowfall means first love. It also means that the person you’re with on the first snowfall of the season will be the love of your life.”

You won’t expect his answer because it’s completely different to your mother’s take on the first snowfall’s significance. This will further stir up Jaehyun’s heart. 

“Do you believe in it?” You let out a lighthearted chuckle. “If you do, then that means I’m the love of your life.”

He will jokingly say— “Why? Are you in love with me or something?”

This is the crucial moment. You must say— “Yes. I’m in love with you, Jaehyun.”

His face is washed with shock and confusion. You’re both standing outside of the train station. Your grip on the handles of your luggage tightens when Jaehyun doesn’t utter a single word out. 

He will joke around even more and say— “You’re joking. Stop joking around, Y/N. I don’t think Yeona would like hearing you say that.”

And it will hurt like a bitch. But try your best to keep yourself together. I want you to avoid the topic and say— “Let’s get going before the diner closes. You know the Christmas dinner is not Christmas dinner without that bomb ass cheesecake.”

He tilts his head in confusion. Why are you avoiding the topic? Are you joking? Why does he feel relieved to hear your confession? He shouldn’t be. He musters up a smile. 

“Let’s get going, then.”

The months and days after Christmas Eve and what seems like a rejected confession makes you heartbroken. Your roommate is tired of hearing you let out sad sighs and soft sobs throughout the day. But you couldn’t help it. Your future self told you that it will hurt like a bitch. It truly did feel like a bitch and it still does. 

On the night of your last exam of your fourth year of university, you make a trip to your mailbox to find another letter. It’s the fifth letter from your future self. 

You find yourself sitting in your dorm room all by yourself while your roommate is out partying. You open up the letter. 

Y/N,

It still hurts like a bitch, right? Well, in this letter, I will tell you what happened that caused future Jaehyun to end up with someone else. I hope it will make you feel better. 

On July 31st, we ended up going to the beach. We bumped into Yeona. Yeona ended up hanging out with us and I felt like a third wheeler. Yeona was sort of picking up the idea that Jaehyun and I were fake dating and that it was all just an act. The more they hung out that day, the more Jaehyun realized that his crush on her was more than just a crush. 

That night, I cried to sleep, wishing that we went to the town fair instead. 

On August 14th, Yeona and her parents came over for dinner. The dinner was awkward. However, after the dinner, Jaehyun asked Yeona if they could talk. I was busy doing the dishes until Mom asked if I could take the trash out. I remember walking out of the door to see them kissing out on the porch. It felt like shit. 

He told her the truth. He told her that it was all just an act to make her fall in love with him. 

That night, they were officially in a relationship. 

On Christmas Eve, Jaehyun picked me up at the train station. We both noticed that it was the first snowfall of the season and we were joking around about its significance. He had jokingly asked if I was in love with him and I said no. I told him that I wasn’t in love with him. 

Around that time, Yeona and Jaehyun have been arguing more frequently. They were going through a rough patch in their relationship. It was starting to make Jaehyun question whether he truly loved her or not. 

But around that same time, Jaehyun was slowly catching feelings for me. He had jokingly asked if I was in love with him because he sincerely wanted to know and if I had said yes, it would’ve given him a clear sign. 

Later that night, he told me about his rough time with Yeona. He was slightly drunk and confessed that he was catching feelings for me, but because I said I wasn’t in love with him, I made him realize that he’s truly in love with Yeona. 

I think this is what made him sure of marrying her. 

I regret lying to him. I wish I told him that I was in love with him. 

I started writing letters to you, past self, in hopes that you would get them somehow. Mother said that she started getting letters from her future self when she turned eighteen. She said that if you start getting letters from your future self, it means that fate is trying to link you up with your soulmate in the past after failing to make it happen in the future. 

I truly believe in it. And so I hope you get my letters to you, past self. 

Rewrite your future. 

Jaehyun and Yeona’s wedding is next month.

I’m still pondering on whether I should attend their wedding. 

That night, you cried yourself to sleep. There is still much left to read from the letter, but you’re too sad and heartbroken to read the rest of it. You decide to save it for later, when the time comes. 

Just like your future self, you hope that you will successfully rewrite your future. 

Because you can’t imagine being in love with anyone else except Jaehyun. 

You slam the trunk shut, dusting off your hands before hopping into the front seat of your car. Your father picked you up on move-out day. Although you were supposed to graduate this year, you decided to take an extra year just for good measure. 

Your father starts the car. “We missed you so much.”

“I missed you guys too.” You smile while buckling in your seatbelt. You suddenly remember what your future self wrote in the fifth letter. 

On the car ride home, Dad will ask you if you really don’t want to go up to the cottage this summer. “Hey, are you sure you don’t want to spend the summer up at the cottage?”

And as much as you want to go, tell him— “I think I’m going to pass this summer. I have a couple of online summer classes and staying up at the cottage will be a huge distraction.”

Here’s what happened. I decided to spend the summer up at the cottage anyway. It was extremely awkward. Yeona and Jaehyun took that summer as an opportunity to deepen their relationship. All I did that summer was cry my eyes out. What seemed like a relationship that was crumbling to pieces was mended back together the moment Jaehyun and Yeona reunited for the summer. 

This time, you are not spending the summer up at the cottage. I want you to continue with that internship offer. I wish I did. I regret not doing it. I hope and wish your absence will stir up Jaehyun’s feelings for you. 

“You’re right, honey. I think staying at home for your online courses is the best way to go.” Your father agrees. 

“And it’s even better because if I pass one of the courses, I might be considered for an internship.” You beam at him. 

“Really?”

“Really!” You exclaim. 

He reaches out to ruffle your hair. “I am so proud of you, honey. You better kick some ass.”

But hey, at least something good will come out of your summer away from the cottage. 

The sixth letter arrives months later. You’ve just graduated and this summer, you decided to give yourself a break and spend it up at the cottage with the Jeongs. This time, the sixth letter comes in a bottle that washes up the shore. You’re taking a hike all by yourself when you decide to read the letter. You take a seat on one of the stones overlooking the small town. 

Y/N,

This summer up at the cottage is crucial. 

August 8th. On that night, your family and Jeongs will have a bonfire. When both of your parents decide to head to bed early, they will leave the both of you together. 

You check your phone for the date. It’s August 7th. You have one day to prepare. Your future self was considerate this time around. 

You will most likely have a heart-to-heart talk with Jaehyun. He will tell you that he’s been pondering on whether he should propose to Yeona and ask her to marry him. 

Later that day, you decide to sit out on the dock. You’re dipping your feet into the lake. Just the thought of Jaehyun proposing to someone else makes your heart ache. You can’t even imagine how your future self is coping with the heartbreak. 

“Can I join you?”

You look over your shoulder to see Jaehyun. You pat a spot next to you. “Sure. Come here.”

He takes a seat next to you and dips his feet into the water. You’re both sitting next to each other in silence. You’re sure Jaehyun has a lot of questions he wants to ask you. 

“You know, I missed you last summer.” He starts off. 

“I missed you too. Sorry I couldn’t come, I had a lot of things to do.” You say softly. “How are things with you and Yeona?”

“Things are well.” He smiles. 

Oh how that smile makes your heart shatter in ways he doesn’t even know. “That sounds great.”

“Yeah. It’s a shame that Yeona and her parents aren’t spending their summer here.” He frowns. 

“Yeah, why not?” 

“Her cousin’s getting married.” He replies. 

“Do you miss her?”

He lets out a sigh. “I miss her a lot.”

The rest of your afternoon is spent sitting at the dock in silence. There’s surely a lot on both of your minds. 

August 8th. 

You almost forget what to do when the day arrives. But you’re glad that you remembered when your parents called it a night and left you and Jaehyun outside near the bonfire. You’re roasting marshmallows with Jaehyun for s’mores. 

Start the conversation. “You look like you have a lot on your mind, Jaehyun.”

He snaps out of his gaze to glance at you. “Do I?”

You chuckle, nodding your head at his marshmallow that’s burnt. “Clearly.”

“Ah,” he cusses, pulling his burnt marshmallow away from the fire. He throws it out and replaces it with a new marshmallow. “I guess I do have a lot on my mind.”

Jaehyun is thinking about whether— “Do you think I should propose to Yeona?”

“You’re planning to ask her to marry you?” You ask. 

He nods. “Yeah. What do you think?”

He will ask you for your opinion. This is what you should say— “Do you love her?”

“I love her—”

“With all your heart?”

He will hesitate. It will take him a while to say he loves her with conviction. But after a couple of minutes, he will say— “I love her with all my heart.”

That’s a lie. Ask him this— “How do you know for sure?”

“When I met her for the first time, I just knew.” He says, his look turning distant. You’re afraid that his marshmallow is going to burn again. “She makes me feel happy. Whenever I’m with her, I feel special. I feel like the luckiest man on Earth.”

Tell him this— “Funny because that’s how I feel whenever I’m with you.”

“W-What?”

He’s looking at you now. He’s staring at you. You’re not sure where to look, so you focus on your marshmallow that’s browning. You pull it away from the fire to replace it with a new one. 

He will feel confused. But you have to remind him that you confessed to him on the night of Christmas Eve. 

“I told you that I’m in love with you, remember? On Christmas Eve? When you picked me up at the train station?” You try to help him recall. 

His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “You weren’t joking? I thought you were joking—”

He will tell you that he thought you were joking. But this is what you tell him— “I wasn’t joking, Jaehyun. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for the longest time.”

“Y/N—”

“But you’re in love with Yeona and she’s in love with you.” You cut him off before shoving your first s’mores of the night into your mouth. 

He’s not sure what to say. You say that like it’s nothing to you. It kind of throws him off. 

“Jaehyun, your marshmallow’s burnt again.”

“Shit.”

Jaehyun will feel troubled. Your conversation with him ends there. Things will be awkward for the rest of the summer and the both of you won’t talk to each other. 

But there’s nothing to worry about. 

Things will get back to normal. On your last day up at the cottage, the both of you will act like nothing ever happened. 

The seventh letter comes on the day you’re moving out of your house. You’re making a courageous move to a new city, where you’ll be living in an apartment and working at your new job. Jaehyun has no idea that you’re moving out. Heck, he has no idea that you’re moving out of town. But you’ll tell him… eventually. 

“You’re sure you’ve packed everything with you?” Your mother asks as she sniffs. Her eyes are glassy. 

You look at her with an endearing smile. “Mom, the more you cry, the more I’ll dread moving out.”

“Shut up, let me have my moment. You’re growing up too fast, honey.” She wipes a tear that streams down her cheek. 

“She’ll be fine. Besides, we’re going to visit her every two weeks.” Your father reassures her. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“If you hate it there, you can always come back here.” Your mother rests her hands on your shoulders. “We’ll be ready to pick you up at the train station too.”

“I’ll let you know if anything happens.” You reassure her as you’re walking towards the car. 

“We should get going before your mother starts crying again.”

“We probably should.” You chuckle. 

“Make sure you eat your meals!” Your mother exclaims as you and your father are hopping into the car. 

The car ride to the train station feels different. You’re not sure what the future has in store for you. You’re not even sure if you’ve successfully rewrote your future. Your mission isn’t even complete for Jaehyun is still in a relationship with Yeona. 

You arrive at the train station earlier than the scheduled departure time. You decided to open the seventh letter and read it to kill some time. You take a seat at one of the benches. 

Y/N,

This is my final letter to you, past self. 

You’re probably on a train ride to a new town for your new job. Or you’re probably still waiting for the train to arrive. 

The future feels uncertain, right? If Jaehyun is still in a relationship with Yeona, don’t worry, things are slowly working out. You’ll have to give it some time. 

You will lose touch with Jaehyun for a while. He will be mad at you for leaving him without telling him. But make sure you both reconcile this Christmas. As for Yeona, she might give you a call a few months later, just to check up on you and stuff. 

I just wanted to let you know that you’ve done your best and if things don’t turn out the way you wanted it to be, everything will be okay. Life will go on. 

However, I am sure that the future will be different. I have a great feeling inside of me that things will be different. I am sure that you and Jaehyun will end up together this time—

“Y/N!”

You look up from your letter. It’s become an instinct for you to hide the letter when you hear someone calling your name out. Standing a couple of metres away, you spot a breathless Jaehyun. 

“Jaehyun?”

He’s rushing over to you. You’re standing up to greet him until he crashes you into a tight embrace. You’re caught off guard. “Jaehyun, what are you doing here?”

He pulls away from the hug. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? What are you doing here?”

You’re confused. Your future self just told you that you will lose touch with Jaehyun for a while. But why is he standing in front of you? 

“I—” You begin. “I got hired at a company out of town. I moved out. I’m moving into an apartment in another city—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He frowns. 

Huh? This is the first time your future self was wrong. Does this mean that you can disregard your future self’s seventh letter? Does this mean that you successfully rewrote your future? But your mission failed. Jaehyun’s not in love with you. What is going on?

“I figured it would be best not to tell you because I knew that you would hold me back,” you explain. “And if you held me back, I don’t think I’d ever move out.”

“But you should’ve told me. I came over to take you out for lunch only to find out that you’re moving out of town and into a new city. Do you know how sad I felt?” He frowns. 

“I’m sorry—”

“And then I started wondering why you didn’t tell me about this. I started to wonder if I did something wrong. I couldn’t think straight. I drove all the way here in hopes that I don’t miss you and that I catch you right before your ride.” He rambles on. “If I didn’t catch you on time, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Jaehyun—”

“I broke up with Yeona.”

“What?!” You blurt out. “Why would you do that?!”

He looks at you for a brief moment. You’re looking at him with anger. Why would he break up with her? 

“Why did you break up with her? She’s in love with you, Jaehyun! You’re supposed to propose to her—”

“Because I’m in love with you.” He breathes out. 

“Huh?”

Yeah, you’re really confused. What’s going on?

“I’m in love with you.” He lets out a nervous laugh.

“You’re in love with me?”

“I’m in love with you, stupid.”

You blink. “Jaehyun, you’re not making any sense right now. It was just weeks ago when you asked me if you should ask Yeona to marry you. It was just weeks ago when you told me that you missed her a lot. It was just weeks ago when you thought my confession was a joke—”

“On Christmas Eve, I picked you up. Yeona and I were going through a rough time in our relationship and I was starting to question if we were meant to be together. I asked and begged for a sign.”

“A sign?”

“The first snowfall. You and I were together on the night of Christmas Eve, where we both witnessed the first snowfall. You asked me if I knew what it meant,” he explains. “I thought, ‘Is this the sign I’ve been looking for?’ and then I joked around asking if you were in love with me, not expecting you to say yes. And you did. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Jaehyun—”

“And that summer where you didn’t come up to the cottage. I felt lonely even though I was with Yeona. Things just didn’t feel the same.” He lets out a shaky laugh. “Everything started to remind me of you. I just knew Yeona was annoyed about it. I kept talking about how this and that reminded me of you. It was all starting to make sense.”

“But you still had thoughts about asking her to marry you.” You say and he shakes his head. 

“I asked you for your opinion on it because I couldn’t trust my own decision. I wanted to see if you would say no. A part of me was begging you to say no.” He explains further. “But you told me that you love me and that your confession wasn’t a joke. That’s when I knew.”

“So,” you mumble. “You’re in love with me?”

“I confessed my feelings for you three times already.”

“But I want to hear it again—”

“The train is arriving in two minutes. The train is arriving in two minutes.” The speaker announces. You and Jaehyun look at each other. 

“I’m in love with you, Y/N.” He confesses again. “But do you really have to leave me here?”

“I’m in love with you too, Jaehyun.” You feel your heart doing cartwheels. “And yes, I have to go, Jaehyun. I can’t keep taking the train everyday to work.”

“Can I move in with you, then?”

“Not until you give me a kiss first—”

“How about I marry you instead?”

“Babe, I’m going to get the last box downstairs!”

You hear Jaehyun close the door as he goes downstairs to get his last move-in box. It didn’t take long for Jaehyun to make the trip to your apartment. In fact, it’s been a week since you moved in and he’s already moving in with you. 

You’re unpacking his clothes from his bags until you open one of the small pockets to see an envelope. Out of curiosity, you pull the envelope out of the pocket. 

The envelope has Jaehyun’s name written on the front in his… handwriting? You open the envelope to pull out a long letter. As you’re unfolding the letter, a soft gasp escapes your lips. 

To Jaehyun,

Don’t be alarmed. You recognize the handwriting, right? It’s because it is your handwriting. 

I am you from the future. 

You’re probably wondering how and why you’re getting this letter. Read this letter carefully because it will be a lot to take in. 

I made the biggest mistake and I need you to fix it. 

Do you remember Y/N, your childhood best friend? Y/N is your soulmate. You are destined to be with her. As I write this letter to you, I have lost almost all forms of communication with Y/N. 

I made the biggest mistake of falling in love with someone else. I fell in love with someone who I am not destined to be with. I married this person and have been married to her for three years. We had just filed for a divorce a month ago. 

I don’t want you to experience what I went through, past Jaehyun. I don’t want you to lose Y/N. I’m sure you don’t want to lose Y/N either. Y/N is everything you could ever want. 

Here are three things I need you to remember:

The moment you realize you’re in love with Y/N, you must tell her before it’s too late. 

Y/N will be moving out when you get this letter. Y/N will be moving into another city and won’t tell you. 

Y/N’s going to board the train at 4pm. You must get to her before then if you plan on confessing to her. 

Those feelings you have for Y/N? Yes, they are true and sincere. Y/N has been in love with you for the longest time. It was my biggest mistake of thinking it was a joke and letting her become the one that got away. 

“Babe, did you know there’s an ice cream parlour across the street?” You hear Jaehyun enter the apartment. 

He places the box down onto the floor and opens it up to start unpacking. You laugh to yourself, wiping away a couple of tears that flow down your cheeks. 

Who would’ve thought that future Jaehyun would be writing letters to his past self too? 

You feel relieved. 

You’ve rewritten your future. 

You’re carefully placing the letter back in its envelope and back into the pocket of his bag. You zip up the pocket and let out a sigh. 

“Really? We should probably get ice cream after we unpack your stuff.”

Don’t be a hopeless fool like me. 

You’ll regret it. Ever since I married someone else, all I’ve ever done was reminisce and regret. 

I hope you get to her on time. You must get to her on time. Or else you’ll be a little too late… again. 

She’ll be waiting. In fact, all she’s done was wait for the perfect time and moment. 

I wish you the best of luck,

Future Jaehyun.

[lovely-ateez]

Broken Strings~

ꕥPosted: 7/20/21

ꕥGenre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, College!au, Rockstar!au

ꕥPairing: Fem!Reader x Rockstar!Yunho

ꕥWord Count: 10k+

ꕥWarnings (please read all!!): Yunho’s ex is an absolute asshat, death threats towards both Yunho and reader, mention of knives used as weapons, San is a bisexual king (happy late pride month), unprotected pool sex/public sex (no one is around but I guess it still counts), masturbation (f), foul language, mentions of alcohol intake, reader is mentioned to have dark brown eyes several times which you can just ignore if you have different colored eyes ofc, mentions of a restraining order against an ex, please let me know if I missed something!!

ꕥTag List: @cappujinho @bobateastay @nevieatiny 

ꕥA/N: The song lyrics are ones that I wrote myself specifically for this au and I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t nervous about posting it. I know there isn’t any tune or anything, but hopefully it sounds like a real song someone might sing. Also I’m not writing angst for a while after this holy shit I’ve been crying too much over this I’m emotional okay

“Date night! Date night! Date night!” I grabbed my boyfriend’s arm, bouncing on my toes.

Yunho raised a hand to cover his ear, scrunching his face, “Babe, I love you, but I think you’ve deafened me.”

I pouted at his tone and crossed my arms, “You’re such a grump.”

“Oh whatever.” He smiled, “You ready?”

I smiled at him and nodded.

Ever since his band, Sidekick Heart, began to pick up traction, he had less free time and our full-day dates once a week soon became date nights every few weeks. Most of his time was spent writing songs, producing them, and practicing endlessly. The fact that he had a tour coming up soon just meant he had even less spare time. I was happy for him, of course, but I couldn’t hide my disappointment that he was leaving.

In middle school, he and three of his friends formed a band for fun, which they kept with all throughout high school. They got good, really good and almost right after they graduated they were signed by a label. Now, three years later, they’d already released two albums and one EP and earned enough money to make a living, which was why Yunho dropped out of college a month ago. Since he had steady career path, he saw no reason to continue and decided to focus on music. He still visited me at college whenever he got the chance, but his visits were becoming more and more sporadic.

We started dating freshman year of college. We had our difficulties as most couples do, but everyday I thanked the stars for pairing us together. I met him on the first day of French class, a day I know I could never forget, no matter how how our future played out.

I sat my backpack on the table in front of me, looking around the empty classroom. I was ten minutes early, so I wasn’t surprised about the lack of students. It was a bit unlikely for me to be so early, but I wasn’t able to sleep the night before and so I had extra time to get ready. With nothing else to do, I took out my phone, reading some missed text messages.

I heard the door open and my head tilted upwards, meeting eyes with a fluffy-haired brunet. He shyly smiled at me and I returned the gesture. The man took a seat in the front row across from me, only a few chairs in between us. I found it cute that he liked to sit in the front of the classroom, too. Very few people did. He turned away from me to place his backpack on the floor and take out a few books. I took the opportunity to look at him. He was attractive, for sure. His short sleeved solid black shirt followed his movements, tattoos peaking through his top. The shirt itself tucked was into ripped jeans, his black shoes matching the outfit, along with various accoutrements. His look was uncommon for college students, most just wore sweatpants with with a casual shirt. I thanked myself for dressing nice that day.

I tilted my head to get a better look at his side profile. He was so handsome that I seemed to forget I was staring. I couldn’t help but get caught up in him, not realizing that I was no longer being subtle.

He spoke without moving to face me, “You’re pretty cute, too.”

“I-I what?” My eyes widened, realizing I’d been caught.

He turned, a charming smile on his face, “You aren’t exactly discreet.”

I took a breath, trying to form a coherent sentence, “Well...can you blame me?”

He pursed his lips, trying to hide a smile, “I appreciate the compliment. What’s your name?”

I hesitated before answering him, which brought a full smile to his face. He moved closer to me before holding out his hand for me to shake. I grabbed his hand and shook it, trying to keep my hands steady. His hand was soft, clearly he took care of himself.

“I’m Yunho.”

I smiled, observing the way he lit up as he turned my hand, placing a delicate kiss on my skin. I felt my face heat up and averted my eyes. Yunho chuckled as he released my hand. Both of us looked up at the sound of the door opening, a group of students entered, followed by a lady who I presumed to be the teacher.

Yunho looked at me, “Meet me after class?”

I nodded, biting my lip as I felt excitement build in my stomach, wanting nothing more than for class to end as soon as possible.

The instant the teacher ended her lecture she left with the rest of the students, who were talking among themselves. My eyes flickered to Yunho to find him looking back at me, his backpack now thrown over his shoulders.

“You have any classes after this?” He asked in a nonchalant manner. Later he confessed to me that he was far more nervous than he appeared, claiming that he fell in love with me at first sight.

I finished placing my notebook in my bag, zipping it up and putting the straps over my arms, “Yeah, unfortunately. I’ve got World Politics in ten minutes.” 

“Aww damn. I was hoping we could grab some food.” He reached into his pants’ pocket, pulling out his phone, “Maybe I could get your number instead and we could meet up later?” He wasn’t pushy or demanding, simply asking.

I nodded quickly, “I’d like that, Yunho.”

He suddenly became more shy, the tips of his ears dusting a beautiful shade of pink, “I like the way you say my name.”

I giggled, trying to hide my own shyness. I took his phone and entered my number, really hoping that he would text me. As if he read my mind, he confirmed what I was thinking.

“I’ll text you,” He looked at me with sparkling eyes before shaking his head, like he was pulled back to reality, “Oh uh...you should probably get to class.“ He raised a hand, somewhat awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

“Yeah I probably should. I’ll see you around?”

He smiled, “I’ll see ya.”

-

It wasn’t long before he texted me, and it made my heart flutter that he kept his word. A day later we met up, grabbing ice cream and getting to know each other. He was a dance major and had to practically beg his parents to let him pursue dance. In return they said he had to repay them with getting straight A’s. He had one younger brother who was possibly the biggest baseball fan to ever exist, he roomed with three men he’d been friends with since kindergarten, and he absolutely adored my brown eyes.

“They’re just beautiful.” Yunho gushed, “Both times I’ve seen you they just sparkle and shine like they’ve got their own little galaxies in them. I’ve never seen anyone with such genuine, kind eyes.”

I let out a girly laugh at the compliment and covered my mouth with a hand, “You’re really trying to flatter me, aren’t you?”

“Depends. Is it working?” He laughed as he propped his head on one of his hands, leaning closer to me in the booth we were sitting in. We’d finished our ice cream long ago, now shamelessly flirting and getting lost in each other.

“It might be.”

“Well I do mean it. I’m not only trying to flatter you.”

The ringing of his phone caught our attention. He smiled apologetically and reached for the device. He sighed, reading the contact name and looking back up at me.

“I’m sorry I’ve gotta take this. It’s one of my roommates and it’s entirely possible they’ve set the house on fire.”

I laughed, “It’s okay, go ahead.”

Yunho excused himself as he answered the call, walking outside. I took a look around the shop we were in, smiling at all the decorations when I noticed a woman sitting alone, eating ice cream and staring at me. Her eyes were such an ice blue that they made her intimidating, to say the least. I wasn’t too surprised, I’d dressed nice and all throughout the day I’d been getting looks. Taking it as a compliment I smiled at her and waited for Yunho to return.

“So good news,” He started as he sat back down in the booth, running a hand through his hair, which was way more attractive than it should’ve been, “They haven’t burnt down the apartment, but San—he’s one of my roommates—his car ran out of gas a few miles away from here so I’ve gotta go help him. Can I drive you back to your own apartment first?”

“Oh no, I don’t want to worry you.” I waved a hand, “I can have a friend pick me up.”

He nodded, “If you’re more comfortable with that, sure, but I’d rather drive you home, if that’s okay.”

I nodded, walking with him as he guided me out to his car. We had our first kiss when he dropped me off, leaving me with the promise of another date, and he delivered. Time and time again he proved he truly cared about me, which inevitably led to a relationship.

We heard a loud crashing in the basement of the house and Yunho let out a frustrated groan, “Oh god it’s happening again.”

He walked over to the basement door, opening it and sighing at the loud yells emitting from below.

“What is it this time?” Yunho shouted.

Wooyoung’s voice rung out, “San won’t let me use the controller!”

The man in front of me placed a hand over his eyes, over the situation entirely, “You’re still fighting over that game?”

“Crash Bandicoot waits for no man!”

“San let him have the controller or I’ll come down there and I’ll beat both of your asses!” Yunho shut the door, giving me a tired smile and walking back to me, “You’d think we would’ve outgrown this stage by now. I’d fire them both and hire a new bassist and drummer if I could.”

“Okay that’s an absolute lie, and you say that like you’re any better. I saw you arguing with Seonghwa over the last bag of chips yesterday.”

He pointed a finger at me, not trying to hide the smile on his face, “Okay that was absolutely valid. I bought those and they were mine.”

I smirked. “My point still stands.”

He rolled his eyes playfully, changing the subject, “How about after our date I sing you a couple of our new songs?” He leaned closer, his lips barely grazing my ear, “I wrote a few about you.”

I pulled back from him, feeling warmth spread in my chest. “Really? You did?”

Yunho wrapped an arm around my waist, “How could I not? You’re always my inspiration.”

I let out a string of incoherent gibberish which prompted the most adorable eye smiles from my boyfriend. I felt too honored to put my emotions into words.

“Go on.” Yunho motioned to the front door, “Grab your purse and head out to my car. I’ll let the guys know we’re going and I’ll meet you outside.”

I gave him a salute, “You got it cap’n!”

His eyes warmed, “God, I love you.”

“I know!” I teased before I grabbed my purse and skipped out of the house. The sun would be setting soon and I admired the several hues that were painted within the sky. I sat on the hood of his car, swinging my feet as I saw him walk out of the house.

“So where exactly are we going?” I tilted my head, looking forward to his response.

“Well I’ve got a couple ideas.” He held up his long fingers and counted off on them, “We could go bowling, or we could have a late night picnic, or maybe...” He moved closer, placing his hands on either side of me with a mischievous grin, “We could go swimming.”

My face lit up, “I haven’t been swimming in forever!”

“I know, that’s why I recommended it.” He laughed, “Let’s break into the swimming pool downtown. It’s definitely closed by now so we can be alone.”

I raised my brows at his words, a smile widening on my face, “Don’t we need to bring swimsuits, though?”

Yunho grinned at me and moved a hand to ruffle my hair, “Nope. We’re going without ‘em.” He lifted me off his car, “Hop in, babe.”

-

We approached the fence with our hands interlocked, a new message greeting us. A red and black sign with the words ‘No Trespassing’ was attached haphazardly to one of the metal wires looped through the fence surrounding the pool.

Yunho tsked, “Aw that’s cute. Like that’s gonna keep us out. This is basically our pool anyways.” 

I laughed, both of us knowing full well there was no method of security beyond the sign and fence. The pool had never installed security cameras and after word spread that the owner had a fear of advancing technology, we had no worry of being caught.

He cupped his hands, holding them out for me to step on. I placed my foot on his hands as he lifted me up, helping me scale the fence. I stepped back, feeling a thrill as Yunho jumped over. It was probably the fourth or fifth time we’d done this, but each time was just as exciting. We walked over to the edge of the pool, its light blue water and the dark blue of the sunset opposing one another but making a beautiful visual.

“Alright, off we go.” Yunho’s fingers danced to the hem of my shirt, then pulling it off and ridding me of the layer of clothing. He pressed several kisses to the exposed skin, making me shiver.

Yunho then pulled back from me, slowly removing his shirt and giving me a teasing look when he caught me staring at his abs, “I look good, don’t I?”

“Shut up,” I laughed, lightly slapping his strong, tattooed arm before removing my skirt, enjoying the way my boyfriend’s eyes devoured me. I returned the action when I saw him remove his jeans, something he was clearly enjoying as well.

I turned back to the pool only to be thrown over Yunho’s shoulders. He let out a string of laughs as I struggled to get down, fearing that he would throw me into the water.

“If you throw me into the pool I’ll kill you!” I laughed, squirming on his shoulders.

“No...I would never do something like that.” I wasn’t even facing him, but I could hear the smile in his voice, which was my only indication that he was about to throw me into pool.

Before I could try to make any sort of escape, he tossed me into the water. It was cold, but less cold than I expected it to be. I coughed up a bit of water as I resurfaced and when I opened my eyes I squinted at Yunho, annoyed at how attractive he looked with the evil smirk on his face.

“You’re a jerk.” I said with no venom behind my words.

“Yeah, yeah. Brace yourself I’m coming in.”

I barely had time to move before he jumped in, his legs tucked to his chest. “Cannonball!”

I moved my hands in front of my face to block the wave of water coming my way, not feeling any surprise about my boyfriend’s childish behavior. When he resurfaced he faced me with a smile, wading towards me, embracing me in his arms, and wrapping my legs around his waist. He was so tall that he could reach the bottom of the pool without having to swim, unlike me, where I was no near reaching the bottom and needed to swim in place. With a satisfied hum he pressed several wet kisses to my neck.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by my skin.

“I love you too, babe.” I hesitated before I said my next words, still overwhelmed at how strong my feelings were for him, “You’re the love of my life.”

He pulled back with a bright smile on his face, his eyes shining almost as if he was tearing up, “I knew you were the love of my life the moment I saw you. And you’re all mine.” Yunho said before he placed a delicate kiss to my lips.

“All yours, babe.”

His long fingers danced along my sides, grabbing at my hips as he began to attack my chest with kisses. I giggled as the feeling of his stubble tickled my skin.

“You know, you really ‘oughta shave before you get a full beard.”

“Why? Are you saying I wouldn’t look good with one?”

I cupped his face, “You’d look amazing with one, but I thought you didn’t like beards, babe?”

“Hate ‘em.” Yunho’s laugh echoed around us, “Really weird that men can grow them in the first place. But anyways...”

His hands made quick work of my bra, letting it sink to the bottom of the pool. I opened my mouth to scold him but before I could his mouth latched to my right nipple, sucking and nipping on it in a way that made my hands seek out his hair and tug harshly at his locks. Letting out a growl, Yunho placed one hand on the the pool wall for balance and the other on my back, drawing abstract shapes there.

Yunho moved to my other nipple, giving it the same treatment and smiling when he heard my moans. In a flash he removed his hand from my back and pressed me against the pool wall, his hand now traveling to my panties.

As he removed the final item of clothing he ran a finger over my clit, giggling to himself. I gave him a look and he clarified, “Babe, you’re wet enough to fill an entire swimming pool.”

I groaned, pressing my head into his chest, “You make that same god awful joke every time we come here.”

“And as such I couldn’t let tradition die.”

“Shut up and fuck me.” I laughed, promptly helping him out of his boxers.

He continued to tease me after, switching between playing with my clit and stretching me out with his long fingers. By the time he finally gave in, I was a whimpering, pathetic mess, begging for more.

As he aligned with my walls he looked at me with delicate eyes, “Ready, little flower?”

I nodded quickly, chanting ‘yes’ over and over. Yunho once again placed a hand on the wall and hooked one of my legs over his waist, allowing him to thrust deeper inside me. He held my hand with his free one, a simple action that always melted my heart. Despite how long we’d been together, I would always get overwhelmed by him so easily. Everything about him exuded such a strong aura that sometimes just the smallest kiss would leave me breathless. The first time we were intimate he took his hand in mine and assured me he would be gentle, and every time since he’s held my hand. It wouldn’t feel right without our hands together.

“Shit—it’s been way too long since we’ve done this.” I said as he snapped his hips into mine, quickly repeating the action.

“God I know.” He let out a pained groan at the thought of it, “Four months is gonna be fucking awful without you.”

“Guess we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got now.”

“Guess we will.”

The sounds of water splashing and the echos of our moans, a symphony I had become so familiar with, was gradually reaching its crescendo. It was getting harder to keep my eyes open but I forced them to be, needed to memorize everything about this moment. The sweat dripping down Yunho’s forehead, the tattooed muscles he was flexing, the sounds and praise he was emitting, and pleasure we were both feeling--I wouldn’t see nor feel this for the next four months.

A particular snap of his hips had me seeing stars and I called out to him, letting him know I was close. Within minutes, both of us were panting and reeling from our highs. Yunho pressed his nose against mine and both of us closed our eyes, enjoying each other’s presence.

“How come every time we come here it ends in sex?” I giggled.

He blinked and moved a strand of wet hair out of my face, “Because you’re hot and barely wearing any clothes and no one’s around.”

I blushed at his compliment, “I mean like I’m not complaining or anything.”

A cocky smile formed on Yunho’s face, “Well it certainly didn’t sound like you were a moment ago.”

“Yunho!”

The man laughed, lifting me up and spinning me around in the pool before cradling me in his arms.

“I hate to say it, but we do need to head back. The world awaits for us, I’m afraid.”

I sighed, pressing into his chest, “I’m gonna miss you.”

He stilled as he pulled me closer, “I’m gonna miss you, too. You don’t have to miss me yet, though.”

“I know.” I swallowed, wishing I had something more to say.

“Come on, then.” Yunho gave me a quick kiss, “Let’s head back.”

-

Yunho held the front door open for me, giving me a gentle slap on my ass when I walked through. I turned around and gave him a playfully annoyed look, which he only laughed at.

As we walked towards the living room, the sound of a random sitcom filled our ears. Six heads turned our way after hearing our footsteps. Seonghwa was resting his head against his long-time girlfriend. She was a sweet girl and complimented him more than any woman I’d seen him with. They really were soulmates, if they ever existed.

San was sitting holding hands with a man he’d been interested in for awhile. I’d often see him flirting with various men and women, but he never went any further than that, too afraid of commitment. This man; however, seemed to breaking through San’s walls. I really hoped they would work out, San deserved someone as kind as him.

Wooyoung sat across from the them, who acknowledged us first.

“Hey guys. Have fun?” Wooyoung asked, smiling at my soaked hair. He had his arm around a woman I’d never seen before and I was certain that none of us would ever see her again. He had the reputation of a playboy, and every poor woman thought they’d be the one exception, the one to make him stay. I’m sure the allure of being a drummer in a band was part of his appeal, too. Maybe one day, like San, he’d settle down.

The woman became visibly upset when Wooyoung looked me with a teasing glance. Feeling sympathy for her, I decided to do my best to calm her nerves.

I spoke for us, linking hands with my boyfriend. “Yeah, we did. I think we’re gonna go clean up though.” I looked at the woman, “I’m y/n, by the way. I’m Yunho’s girlfriend.”

She didn’t even try to hide the relief on her face. “Oh! I’m Solar. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung started, “Best girlfriend he’s ever had. Much better for him than Lucy.”

Yunho glared at the man, “Thought we agreed not to bring her up?”

Lucy, the woman Yunho dated before me, was arguably the scariest person I’d ever heard about. They dated for roughly three months before she became obsessive, to the point where Yunho had to get a restraining order against her. She threatened to hurt all of Yunho’s friends and family, all because she wanted Yunho all to herself. That was about all Yunho ever told me about her. Not that I complained. I didn’t exactly want to discuss his exes, even more so when they were that crazy.

I never told him, but I knew I saw her the first date we went on. I could see the way her piercing, ice eyes saw through me. I had no doubt it was her. I just hope I’d never see her again. Maybe now that she saw he was taken she’d leave us alone. There was an uncomfortable silence following, none of us knowing what to say until San spoke.

“You look like a wet dog, Yunho.” San joked, prompting laughter from a few of us, which seemed like more of a noise of relief rather than one of actual humor.

“Yeah, yeah.” My boyfriend relaxed his shoulders, “I think we’re gonna head in for the night so don’t make too much noise.” Waving them goodbye he caught up with me, placing a hand around my waist.

“Shower with me, doll.”

I placed a hand on his chest, “I would love to.”

-

I came out of the shower wearing my favorite large shirt of Yunho’s, drying my wet hair with a towel. The smell of chlorine had gone away for the most part; whatever chemicals the owner put in that pool always made the smell harder to get rid of. Only a small price to pay, I figured.

My boyfriend, who was much quicker than I was, looked up from his phone as he was splayed out across his bed. His tired eyes smiled at me while motioning me over. Yunho’s own hair was still drying and with his bare face and crooked smile, he was as handsome as he could ever be.

“Hey there.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He reached an arm out to me, pulling me against him when I took his hand, “How ya feeling?”

“Tired.” I hummed, sleepily smiling against his neck.

“Too tired to listen to the song I wrote for you?”

“No! Not at all.”

Yunho chuckled, slowly brushing my hair aside and turning his head to look at me. As he had countless times, he took a breath before he turned to me, beginning to sing.

“You give me fireworks

I’ll give you the kindest words, my dear

Your love caught me

The moment I met your eyes

And how could I not fall?

Your heart bared, no disguise”

I fought to stay awake although his melodic voice seemed to be lulling me to sleep. I felt myself losing consciousness, but managed to catch the last few lyrics he sang to me.

“Now I sunbathe in the daybreak

Half asleep, half awake

Writing this song

As I hope I’ll dream of you”

Yunho brushed his fingertips brush against my face before he spoke, “Goodnight, flower.”

I muttered some form of a “goodnight” before I felt sleep take over me, nuzzling happily against my boyfriend.

-

I woke up in a panic, unsure why my heart was beating so fast until I looked at the clock. Eleven in the morning. I was an hour later than I should’ve been at my job. It seemed that even unconscious my body knew I was late.

“Oh shit I’m gonna be late for work!” I spoke with wide eyes.

Jumping from Yunho’s bed I stripped myself of his shirt and quickly threw my clothes on. The body that laid beside me stirred, moving the covers aside.

“Are you leaving?” He asked sleepily, his face puffy from sleep and an adorable pout on his lips.

I frowned, “Yeah. I’m sorry we didn’t get to spend more time together, babe.”

He shook his head, “Don’t worry about it. Both of us slept in.”

I tied my hair back, sighing. I was so caught up in my thoughts I almost missed Yunho’s question.

“Sorry what was that?”

He smiled, “You’re coming to our going away party tomorrow, right?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I moved back to the bed and hugged him, feeling my heart sink. I was proud of him, I really was, yet couldn’t help but feel sad that I wouldn’t see him for so long.

This was the longest tour they’d ever gone on and we’d never been apart from each other that long before. I trusted him and I was confident in our relationship, but realistically, all members of Sidekick Heart were attractive young men and a good portion of their fans were female. I was far more concerned about the female audience doing something than I was about Yunho making a move on another woman.

With one last squeeze of his shoulders I pulled back, goodbyes beginning to fall from my lips before Yunho pulled me back.

“I need a goodbye kiss.”

I pressed my lips together with a smile, gladly indulging him. Giving him one last kiss against the lips, I bid him farewell until the following day.

-

“So how was work?” My roommate asked as I walked in the house, propping her feet up on our couch and tossing a kernel of corn into her mouth, the lighting of the TV illuminating her blanket-covered body.

I sighed, sitting down on the floor next to her, “Other than being an hour and a half late and missing an important meeting I think it went okay. I’m just glad the day’s over.” Rubbing a hand over my face I turned to her, “What about you? How was your day?”

“Pretty damn good actually.” She smiled, removing the blanket and showing me the new ink on her upper arm. It was an assortment of flowers and matched her bubbly personality perfectly. They were now the fifth adornment on her beautiful dark skin, each one of them tempting me more and more to get a few of my own.

“Another one already, Tiff?”

“Listen, you’ll know how addicting they get as soon as you get your first.”

“You sound so confident that I will.”

“Oh I know you will. You’re dating a rockstar, after all. Not to mention he’s the goddamn lead singer and has tattoos of his own.”

“Shut up.” I giggled, “Speaking of, are you coming to the farewell party tomorrow?”

“I plan on it, but I’ll probably be there a couple hours late. My dad’s flying into town for the weekend so I plan on visiting first. I’m definitely coming though.”

I hummed, “Yeah, don’t worry too much about it. We all know it’ll go till sunrise anyway.”

She let out a loud laugh, likely remembering the last party of theirs we went to where she ended up more drunk than I’d ever seen her. She claims she remembers flashes of the night; playing strip beer pong and being dared to steal one of the neighbor’s bushes—which, after much convincing from those who were sober, she decided against it—but didn’t recall half of the hilarious memories of her the rest of us did. Personally, my favorite was watching her hold a tomato soup can and cry over the fact that it could never have children.

Tiff let out a yawn as she stretched her arms above her head, turning in my direction. Her words were muffled by her yawn as she spoke, “Imma go to bed now. You good before I go?”

I smiled at her, “Yeah I’m good. I won’t stay up too much longer, just need to go through my nightly routine of looking at the stars, ya know, the usual.”

She nodded, wrapping the blanket around her and heading to her bedroom, “Sleep well, babe. I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

“Back at ya.”

It was a habit of mine, gazing at the night sky before sleeping. It gave me comfort knowing that out there, somewhere, there was something else out there with me. Almost like I wasn’t going through everything alone.

I set my purse down when I reached our kitchen, reaching for a tea pot and tea bags, brainlessly brewing my favorite tea as I thought of what Yunho might be doing right now. It was probably most likely that he was practicing for their tours, but I could only hope he was getting a little bit of rest.

I stepped out onto our porch to look at the stars with a cup of tea in my hands, the night sky twinkling with all the stars it could offer. A slight breeze rustled my hair and I closed my eyes, thankful for the pleasant weather. I heard a sudden snap of a branch and my eyes quickly opened as I searched out property for any sign of an aggressive animal. My eyes finally landed on a human-like figure. Feeling adrenaline run though me, I decided to confront whoever or whatever it was.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” I spoke, my voice loud but not quite a yell.

The figure took off it’s hood to show their face, and I saw a familiar pair of ice blue eyes, though I hadn’t seen them in years, “I’m here to see you, of course.”

My brain quickly connected her to the woman I hoped I’d never see again.

Lucy.

“Well I don’t want to see you. Leave.”

She pressed a hand to her chest, feigning offense, “But I came all this way! Just to...say hello.”

I took a step towards her, hoping that if I appeared confrontational she would leave me alone. “I don’t know who you are, now please leave. I’m not going to say it again.”

“Oh, you poor girl. You really think you have the upper hand?” She pulled out a knife, and walked towards me at impressive speed, pointing the weapon at my throat. “I know you’ve been seeing Yunho. I. Don’t. Like. That.” She emphasized every word of the last sentence, anger woven within her voice.

I wanted to fight back. Everything in me was screaming to fight back, but I knew I had no chance. I had no idea what she was capable of, and I didn’t dare to find out.

“I dated him first and he’s still mine. You’re going to break up with him, you hear me?” She screamed in my ear, the sound shaking me to my core, “I never want to see you near him again.” She grabbed my jaw harshly, forcing my eyes to lock with hers. “I bet he doesn’t even love you.”

My eyes watered. I knew she was wrong, but with the adrenaline coursing through my veins and the harshness of her words I began to doubt myself.

Her grip tightened and I let out a yelp, “He loves me and I love him. He’s always loved me, not you. Why would he ever love a thing like you?”

She then threw me to the ground, towering over me, “Break up with him. Make him hate you. If you don’t,” She squatted down next to me, once more pointing the knife at my throat, “I’ll kill him myself and make you watch. Then,” She cocked her head, a crazed smile plastered on her face, “I’ll kill you. If I can’t have him, no one can.” She stood, smirking at me, “And you know I will.”

She kicked me in the stomach, watching as I crawled into myself, groaning from the pain. I closed my eyes, hoping she wouldn’t hurt me any more than she already had.

“I’ll be watching you at the party tomorrow. Do it then. Break his heart. I’ll kill him then and there if you don’t.” She looked down at me and scoffed, “And I’ll be bringing friends to make sure the job gets done.”

I carefully opened my eyes to see her stepping over me, walking back into the darkness from which she came. I scrambled back into my house, hyperventilating from the interaction I just had.

I spent the night crying, not able to sleep even for a minute. I tried to think rationally, but there were just too many variables. How many ‘friends’ was she bringing? Would she really kill Yunho in front of everyone? Where would she be watching me from? Is she watching me now?

I could text or call Yunho to let him know, but where would we go from there? He’d want to meet me and she’d kill him instantly. Right?

“Maybe I could pull him aside at the party and warn him?” I murmured to myself, “No, she could probably see that. Maybe there’s people actually at the party who are looking out for us, too.” I covered my face with my hands and fell back into my pillows, weeping as I knew I had to break up with the love of my life.

-

Choosing to wear a yellow dress honestly couldn’t have been more ironic. Yellow was supposed to be a happy color. A color of hope and yearning, innocence and warm days full of laughter. It was the complete antithesis of how I felt and what I knew I had to do. Even worse, the weather was perfect. It was sunny, but not so much to make it unbearable outside. Everything about today made my insides twist.

I took a breath at the door of Yunho’s house, bracing myself for what I had to do. Knocking a few times I heard a commotion inside before the man I came to see opened the door. His smile had never been bigger.

“Baby!” He cheered, pulling me into a bear hug and ruffling my styled hair, “I’m so excited you’re here!”

He looks so ecstatic. And I have to break him.

The thought crushed me and brought tears to my eyes, but I couldn’t let him die. I knew she was serious, I didn’t doubt that for a moment. I grabbed Yunho’s arm, pulling him outside and away from everyone in the house.

I looked at the ground as I felt my lips begin to quiver, “I’m sorry. I just need to get this over with.”

Yunho bent down to meet my eyes, “Hey, hey. What’s going on sweetheart?” His voice was gentle, one of his hands coming to rub the tears from my face, “I’m here for you, whatever it is.”

I looked down, unable to look him in the eyes. I hated myself more than I’d ever hated anyone. “I don’t love you, Yunho.” My hands began to shake beyond my control, my own body knowing I was making a mistake.

“W-what?” Yunho’s voice cracked. A moment of silence passed before he let out a hollow laugh, “Baby, you don’t mean that-”

I looked up at him and immediately wished I hadn’t. Tears were welling in his eyes, his own hands beginning to shake.

“I said I don’t love you Yunho!” I said louder than I intended, “Not anymore. I don’t want to be with you. I’m sorry.”

He took a step back and I noticed his hands clenching, something he always did to keep himself from crying.

“If that’s what you want,” Tears fell from his eyes before he finished his sentence, “Then I’ll support your decision.” He looked to the side, not knowing what else to say.

I wanted nothing more than to throw myself in his arms and explain everything, tell him that I’ve never stopped loving him, not even for a second, but I couldn’t. Instead, I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand and looked at him one last time. He was so fucking handsome, so goddamn kind, and here I was doing this to him. Maybe he did deserve someone better.

“Good luck with your tour, Yunho. I know you’ll be fantastic.”

I turned and walked away from him quickly, leaving the house and ignoring the stare I could feel on me. I ran across the yard to my car, starting the engine and leaning my head against the steering wheel. I felt myself lose all oxygen in my body, the only option left to take large gasps of air. My vision was so clouded by tears I couldn’t even see anymore. I’d just lost myself along with my other half. I’d never felt as empty as I did in that moment.

Just then I heard a knocking on my window. I half-hardheartedly lifted my head and felt my heart lurch. Yunho was standing outside my car, eyes red and puffy, looking at me like I was the last person he’d ever see. I opened my car without thinking, my breathing still as uneven as before.

Yunho spoke, his voice coarse and distant, “I’m not asking you to change your mind, but I need you to know that I have always loved you and I always will. That will never change.”

I wiped the snot from my nose but didn’t bother to try and fix the mascara I knew was streaming down my face. I knew I had to look horrible, but he still held so much love for me that it was easy to see in his eyes. I fought myself to not reply, knowing that if I’d open my mouth all I’d say was ‘I love you’ over and over again.

“Is it too out of line to ask for a last hug?” He smiled sadly as more tears poured from his eyes.

I shook my head, running into his arms and embracing him. I felt like I made a mistake the moment I did because I could smell him. He was wearing the cologne I bought him for his birthday. His warm, sturdy chest...everything about him felt like home.

“Goodbye, Yunho.”

-

I arrived at home alone, tears still stinging my eyes. Tiff was nowhere to be found and I couldn’t decide if I was thankful or sad for the fact that she wasn’t there. I barely made it out to our porch before collapsing once again, finding it harder and harder to breathe. I didn’t know how long I was sitting there, it could’ve been one hour or three, but given the setting sun it looked like it was the latter. Once more I heard a noise outside our home, and once more the female figure appeared before me.

“You did good,” Lucy said, twirling her knife in her hands, “Dare I say I’m proud of you.”

“I don’t ever want to see you here again.” I cried, “I did what you want now get the fuck away from me.”

“My, my. You have quite the mouth on you, don’t you?” She tsked, “But you did as I asked, so I might as well comply. Don’t; however, think that you can go crawling back to Yunho and tell him about this. I’ll keep watching you and if you decide to do just that...I’ll follow through with my promise.”

I kept my eyes on the ground, convinced that if I looked up at her I’d attempt to rip the hair out of her head. No anger I had ever felt before could surmount to the rage I was feeling.

“Nonetheless, it was a pleasure doing business with you, miss.”

As soon as she came, she was gone. When I finally let myself look up, I could no longer see her, only darkness. Once again, I was alone.

-

Six months had passed since I broke up with Yunho and today officially made the third new date I’d went on. All of them were absolutely horrible. It wasn’t even that the guys were mean or rude or weren’t attractive, they just weren’t him.

Why am I even trying to move on?

I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes looked heavy, the bags under my eyes ever prominent. I couldn’t fool myself. I’d never be able to be with another man again. I forced myself to hold back tears and reached back to untie my hair, preparing to take a bath in hopes that it would take my mind off of things.

I began to run the warm water as I reached for several candles, lighting them and placing them around the room, trying to forget the entire day altogether. As I waited for the tub to fill I grabbed my phone, opening Instagram for no other reason than to have something to do. Although Yunho and I broke up, I still followed their band account, as well as their individual accounts. Seonghwa, San, and Wooyoung were still my friends, after all. Yunho was the only exception. Both of us unfollowed each other early on just because it was too painful. I didn’t hold it against him and hoped he didn’t hold it against me either.

Regardless, my eyes found the most recent post on Sidekick Heart’s account. All four members were shirtless, their hair dripping wet with goofy smiles plastered on their faces. They were standing by a pool, the same one Yunho and I would often break into. I noticed Yunho first, how could I not? His smile wasn’t as wide as the other’s, his eyes a bit colder, but he looked happy all the same. He looked good. Really, really good. He was always fit while we were dating, but he gained more muscle since I last saw him and it didn’t go unnoticed by their fans, either. I clicked the comment section against my better judgement, knowing what I was going to see before I even did so.

“Yunho looks like a fucking goddd”

“So Yunho’s still single right??”

“Yunhooo hmu I beg you”

“Jesus Christ Yunho break me please”

A surge of jealousy rushed through me. I hated when girls said those things when we were together, but now that we were apart it made it even worse. I had no right to be jealous, and that was the worst part.

The water reached my leg that was resting on the side of the tub and I scrambled to turn off the faucet. Doing my best to push the images from my mind I placed my phone aside and stripped from my clothes, settling in the water. I sighed as some water fell out of the side of the tub. It wasn’t a terrible thing to happen, but it seemed to just be another thing to go wrong.

My eyes wandered back to my phone, Instagram still open and the picture I was looking at earlier still on display. He was so fucking hot and seeing that he was standing next to that pool—our pool—made my brain short circuit. I couldn’t stop my thoughts from taking me back to the last night we broke in, the way we teased each other and how it inevitably led to sex. It seemed I had no control over my body as my dominant hand slipped between my legs.

But as much as I wanted it to be, it wasn’t the same. My fingers weren’t as long or slender as his and just nothing about our touches were the same, but the image of him just made my hormones rage. Every ounce of me craved him.

My fingers swirled around my clit, a bundle of pleasure shooting through me at the action. I closed my eyes, letting my body take over and repeat the motions and much as I fought not to, my brain kept replaying scenes of two of us again, and again, and again.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” Yunho spoke as I sunk down on his dick, barely finding the energy to lift myself up again even though the noises he made were like shots of espresso.

“Aww, is my baby getting tired?” He cooed, jerking his hips into mine.

“It’s not fair!” I whined, “I’m not good at this and you know it.”

“But we wouldn’t be a good couple if we didn’t encourage each other to work hard, right? Up you go, flower.”

I whimpered and pouted, but still obeyed him. Taking pity on me, Yunho grabbed my waist and lifted me, relaxing his grip as I moved downward. I made a noise that wasn’t understood by Yunho, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“What was that?”

“Please. More. I need you so bad.” I begged.

Yunho laughed, “I really do have you wrapped around my finger, don’t I?”

I nodded before remembering that he’d probably prefer a verbal answer, “Yes. I’m w-wrapped around your finger.”

He let out a noise of satisfaction before flipping us over into a position so that he would have full control. I grabbed the bedsheets roughly, so much in my own world that I didn’t hear Yunho’s words.

“What was that?” I let out with a series of mewls.

“You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, too, you know? I don’t go an hour without thinking about you anymore. I can’t even have a single conversation without bringing you up. Anytime someone says your name my heart beats out of my damn chest. You’re the only woman for me.”

My legs shook as my high approached, barely able to breathe at it’s intensity. It took me a minute before I could even remember where I was. As I came to my senses, I felt tears biting at my eyes and this time I didn’t bother to hold them back. I watched as they streamed down my face and joined the now-cold water surrounding me. I brought my hands up to cover my eyes, glad Tiff wasn’t home to hear my wailing. She’d been good about staying with me since the breakup, but tonight she just wasn’t here. The hole in my heart felt even deeper now. I wondered if he found someone, if he was happy now. Hell, maybe it was his ex. The thought tore my heart out and ripped it in two. I wanted to be happy for him if it was true, but I just couldn’t be. I was still too selfish. I still wanted him to love only me.

-

 New friends, new beginnings or whatever.

That’s apparently what I thought when I began attending more clubs at college after the breakup, meeting new people and eventually finding a really solid friend group. All who happened to really like punk-rock music.

“You should really go with us,” Shang directed his words at me, “There’s a new band popping up that’s playing this weekend. It’s three hours away but they have great music.” 

I sighed, not fully convinced although it did sound fun. The last concert I’d been to was one of Yunho’s and though I hadn’t even seen him in what felt like forever, I still couldn’t help myself from thinking of him anytime someone talked about concerts. Sensing my apprehension, the woman beside me spoke up.

“Road trip! Road trip! Road trip!” Tyra chanted in my ear, her black curls bouncing with her as she clapped her hands between the words. “Come on, it would be so much fun and you know it.”

I bit my lip, deep in thought. I knew I would have fun but I just didn’t know if that would outweigh the pain I would feel.

“What’s the band name?” I asked, looking at Shang.

“Honestly?” He scratched the back of his head, “I was a little drunk when I told one of my friends I’d be there so I don’t even remember what they’re called.”

“How do you know they have great music, then?” I laughed, Tyra agreeing with me, apparently not knowing who was playing when she agreed either.

“I mean, my brother listens to their music and he’s got good music taste so they’ve gotta be good.”

I closed my eyes as I felt an oncoming headache, knowing they wouldn’t accept no as an answer. “Fuck it.” I stated, “I’ll go.”

The two cheered, Shang promising that I’d enjoy myself. I doubted it, truthfully, but really it was decided that I’d go the moment the pair brought the idea up to me.

-

Our trio waded through the giant crowd as the doors opened to let us into the venue. It was big, one of the larger concerts I’ve been to. Whoever we were seeing was successful, for sure. The volume at which everyone was speaking was essentially a yell, so I had to do just that to get my messages through.

“I still can’t believe we have no fucking idea who’s playing!” I yelled at Shang.

He laughed, “I got seats towards the front row, though! I didn’t even have to pay for them!”

“That’s not gonna matter if we don’t know any of the lyrics, you dipshit!” Tyra barked.

“Okay okay I should’ve asked, I get that now.”

As we found our way towards the seats, there was a big projector with the words ‘Sidekick Heart’ displayed across it. My heart dropped and I suddenly felt it become hard to breathe.

“You got us tickets to a Sidekick Heart concert?” Tyra beamed, “I love their music and I’m practically in love with San! His vocals are insane! Holy shit, Shang!”

“Ohhhh yeah I remember now.” He chuckled.

I seemed to fade into the background as the two of them discussed their love for the band and the members. All I could think about was seeing Yunho again.

Would he see me? How would he react if he does?...Does he hate me?

I only came back to reality when the audience began to cheer and I saw all the members step onto stage. Seonghwa cradled his electric guitar, in one arm, waving at the audience with the other. Wooyoung plopped down behind the drum set, smiling at the audience while twirling a drumstick. With his bass guitar, San, ever the king of expressions, gave his best smoulder to the audience and it seemed like the audience collectively screamed over him. Then came Yunho out to center stage, his electric guitar in his hands and a smirk on his face as if he knew everyone in the damn building wanted to fuck him. And he’d be right. The spotlights on each of them made them look like actual gods. If I didn’t know them personally I would have thought they were.

Yunho leaned into the mic, his gruff voice taking me by surprise, “Hello everyone! Great to see you all! If you haven’t been to one of our concerts before this is how it’s gonna work: You’re gonna dance, we’re gonna sing, we’re all gonna have a fucking great time tonight!”

The crowd erupted as the first song began to play. It was one of their more popular songs and for good reason. All over it was a really well put together song and I couldn’t help as I began to mouth along to the words. Song after song played, some I knew some I didn’t, and the entire time I couldn’t look away from the man singing. He radiated confidence and looked relaxed as if he’d been performing for decades. I knew he wasn’t as cool as he seemed, I’d given him so many pep talks before performances I couldn’t count them, but as an outsider you’d never know.

I wonder who talked him up this time?

“Alright everyone. This is the last song of the night and-”

The audience booed, everyone upset at the night coming to a close.

Yunho laughed. The sound was rich and beautiful. He was truly enjoying himself. This is what he was meant to do, with or without me. I closed my eyes, willing myself not to cry.

Yunho’s voice filled my ears. “I know, I know. I’d love to stay a bit longer, too. Here’s the thing though...” He paused and I opened my eyes only to see him looking back at me. His eyes automatically softened as they always did when he saw me, but as if he remembered how we ended his gaze hardened slightly, like he was trying to distance himself. It felt like we’d been looking at each other for hours before he opened his mouth to speak again, but I knew very well that my perception of time had been off for a while.

“Even if we only have this little time left, I’ve truly enjoyed the time we’ve spent together. The fact that it’s coming to an end soon is what makes it so special, I think.” Yunho broke eye contact with me, smiling slightly and glancing back out at the sea of people. “Seeing your smiling faces, your energetic cheers—all of it—is a reminder to me that we’re so lucky to be doing this as a job. Really...I love you all.”

The audience let out a chorus of ‘awws’ which was followed by several rather aggressive ‘I love you too’s.

The lead singer once more smiled, “Now, without further adieu, this is one of our newest songs and it’s called Brown Eyes, here it is.”

The music began to play, all instruments coming together to make a somber tune. Somehow they were always able to write music that perfectly encapsulated emotions or ideas. This one? Loss.

“Since you left you’re still so infused

In how I think and what I do

Can’t seem to get you to leave me alone

Your ghost stayed here and she watches my tears

That run down our picture frames”

Then he found me again in the crowd, no doubt able to see the tears staining my makeup, no doubt able to see how broken I was. And still, he sang.

“I’ve tried hard to fight it

Yet I keep givin’ in

There’s been no one but you

I’m trapped, confined

And your platinum smile still knocks me out

Every single time”

He kept eye contact with me, not once breaking his gaze. It was almost as if he wanted me to break first, as if he wanted me to look away before him. As if he was daring me to leave him again.

San stepped closer to his mic and took his eyes away from his bass guitar, Yunho’s voice being replaced by the purple-haired man. As his voice rang out I only could’ve hoped the next lyrics were about one of San ex’s, not me. Even if they weren’t, Yunho still looked at me.

“It’s not aimed at me 

Maybe it never was

But oh darling, you could’ve fooled me”

My eyes flickered down, unable to look at Yunho any longer. His gaze only broke my heart further and in turn I felt my eyes water. After a moment or two, I worked up the courage to look back at him. He was still looking at me like he never moved his eyes. I couldn’t seem to register the lyrics until Yunho began to sing again, his voice drawing me in as it always did.

“You've disappeared without a trace

Left an unsuspecting guise

Love, I need you to know

I’ve been losing far more than sleep

Over those deep chocolate eyes.”

As the song and the show ended and everyone in the crowd cheered, I felt a rush of emotions run through me. Thrilled that they’d become so successful, proud of them for putting on such an amazing show, and hurt because I could still see a sliver of sadness in Yunho’s eyes.

I hurt him.

Yunho then reluctantly said his goodbyes to the audience along with the rest of the members. His jaw tightened as he walked over to Wooyoung, whispering something in his ear before walking off stage. Feeling like I was set in a trance, I grabbed my Tyra’s arm and mumbled something about going to the bathroom before following him. I completely ignored her questions and concerns about where I was going, dead set on talking to him again even though I didn’t have a damn idea what I was going to say.

Somehow, through the giant maze of people, I was able to spot Yunho leaving through the backstage. Instinctively I ran towards him, still having no plan in mind. I only stopped when a purple-headed man appeared before me.

“Y/n!” He smiled, bringing me into a hug, “I missed you so much!” He pulled back from me, “We all did.”

Seonghwa and Wooyoung came from behind me, both wearing sad, kind smiles. They looked healthy and happy, which was all I could’ve asked for them.

“How’ve you been, girl?” Seonghwa cocked his head, genuinely curious.

I hesitated, not sure if I should tell them the truth. But at the end of the day, they were still my friends. “Not...great. If I’m being honest. I was kinda hoping I could talk to Yunho...if I could.”

They all shared a look I couldn’t understand.

Wooyoung spoke up, “We’re having a party at a friend’s house after this, you should come.”

I was surprised, still not fully understanding the situation.

San frowned, “I think it would be good for you two to talk. He didn’t tell us too much about what happened, but I’m sure you had a good reason. You were always so good to all of us.”

“I can text you the address if you’d like,” Wooyoung added, “You still have the same number?”

I nodded.

“Okay, good. We need to get back but we’ll see you there. Take care, okay?”

“I will. Thanks guys.”

San pulled me in for another hug, “Of course.”

They waved as we parted ways and for the first time that night, I felt hopeful. I spotted Shang and Tyra and ran up to them, no doubt a smile on my face as I asked, “Soo...you guys up for a party?”

-

I ditched my friends the moment we arrived, barely even sparing a word with Seonghwa, San, and Wooyoung once they nudged me in the direction of Yunho. I didn’t try to think too much about it, knowing I’d explain it all to them later.

He was standing in an empty bedroom, looking at the floor and sipping out of a red cup which likely contained liquor. When his eyes met mine a rush of memories flooded back to me. The first time we kissed, the first time he confessed he loved me, the first time he saw me cry.

The first time I broke his heart.

His eyes raised to mine, his face stoic, “Enjoy the show?”

My mouth opened and closed, not having any clue what to say to him, “Yunho I-”

“I know why you did it.” He said suddenly, “A week after you left me Lucy showed up to one of our shows and tried to convince me it was all a coincidence. Said that I could finally be with her. When I didn’t buy it she finally gave in and told me she convinced you we were better apart. So naturally I called the cops and they arrested her for breaking the restraining order, thank god.” He shook his head, looking disgusted, “You know I never wanted us to be apart. My question to you,” he took a step further towards me, “is why did you do it? Why did you end us?”

When I couldn’t seem to respond he talked once more, “You could’ve told me what she was trying to do. We could’ve worked it out together.” He looked more disappointed and heartbroken rather than angry.

He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of this.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Yunho.” I bit my tongue as I fought back tears, “I’m not asking for you to forgive me. I-I’m just-” I sobbed, “Lucy told me she would kill you if I kept dating you.”

Yunho’s mouth shut and eyes widened, clearly missing that bit of information. I took it as my cue to continue “I don’t know why she did it, but it’s probably because we were happy.”

More tears fell down my face and it became harder for me to talk, but I owed him the truth. I had to tell him the truth. I looked up at him but because of my tears my vision was blurred. Yunho’s hands were tightening into fists as he looked away from me.

“I couldn’t tell you because I had to protect you so I had to make you hate me and I’m just so sorry.” I fell to the ground, my body feeling as heavy as my heart.

I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and I brought my eyes to meet his own, “I’m sorry.” A tear streamed down his cheek, heavy remorse in his eyes, “God she’s fucking awful.”

A laugh got caught in my throat, “Yeah she is.”

He set his cup down somewhere along the way a his hands cupped my face, finally whispering the words I’d only heard in dreams, “I still love you so fucking much. I never stopped loving you. I never even tried to stop because I know I couldn’t.”

I jumped into his arms and kissed him hard, unintentionally knocking him to the floor. He met my lips with just as much fire, groaning when I unconsciously bucked my hips into his, all my sexual frustration still pent up.

“I missed you so fucking much.” Yunho growled, obviously feeling needy too but deciding against it as he wrapped his arms around my waist, speaking in between kisses, “I missed your cute laugh. I missed your lips. I missed your fucking awful jokes. I missed the way you’d look at me whenever you told me you loved me. I missed your gorgeous body and your smile. I missed your moans and the way you arched your back when we’d have sex. I missed how alive you made me feel.” He pulled back to look at me, “My life had no purpose without you.”

I took a breath, tears once more falling, “Mine didn’t either.” It wasn’t anything profound or emotional, but it was the truth. It didn’t.

Gently picking me up, he placed me on the bed. His eyes were raw, as emotional as they could ever be. Taking my hands in his, he looked at me as if I would disappear at any minute.

“Stay with me. Come with us on the rest of the tour. If you can’t take a vacation we’ll hire you as an assistant. If you can’t do that we’ll make some other kind of accommodation. Just stay, please. Please be mine again.”

I looked at the man in front of me. The tough-looking, six-foot tall, tattooed, strong man that could probably scare the shit out of anyone. Yet here he was, bearing his heart to me and being as vulnerable as a person could be.

I smiled, feeling my heart swell. “I’ve only ever been yours.”

-

The morning was bright, lighting directly hitting my eyes. I cursed myself for not closing the blinds the night before and blinked off my sleep when I heard a familiar pleasant sound.

Jumping down from the bed I put on the new fluffy bathrobe my lover bought me. I followed Yunho’s voice out to my porch, realizing I was listening to a new song of his. The man was strumming a guitar, a beautiful melody falling from his lips. When he noticed me, he smiled and continued to sing.

“I’m in a vivid yellow mood

You’re my muse, my home and room

And now that I have you again

What could I ever fear?

Oh do me a favor, dear

And inscribe your name on my sleeve

Let me keep it there forever

Because you’re better than any daydream.”

[princehrry-writings]

Y/n's a witch and Harry's her soulmate

I'VE LITERALLY BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR 2 MONTHS!!!

lanfvksbkvjbs I hope you guys like it because I poured my whole soul into this!!!! I wanted it to be over 10k but I felt like I was just dragging it on and the ending isn't great but it's ok.

I switch between present and past tense without meaning too- oops :)

wordcount: 9911

warnings: uhhh, swearing, google translated latin :) catcalling and unwanted male attention (with a bad witch moment... see what i did there😏), a little bit of violence, very lightly edited lmao

She didn’t quite understand what was going on. Was this another witch? No, she would have felt that energy differently. So he had to be a mortal. But why did it feel like she had just been set on fire in the best way possible.

“Thank you…” He muttered, eyes glazed over. “M’Harry, by the way.”

Harry.

What a magical name, she thought.

or

Harry walks into Y/n’s shop one day, sees the brooms sweeping by themselves and gets a little curious.

.

.

.

“Althea, get your claws out of there. You’re gonna get hair in the muffins!” Y/n shrieked, quickly shooing the troublesome feline away from the open bowl of batter sat atop the counter. The cat just meowed at her, unbothered by her person's shrieking. Thea was quite the diva. She couldn’t give a flying fuck even if she tried.

“Oh Stars, look what you’ve done!” Y/n continued, cleaning up the trail of paw prints left in the flour on the table. “How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of the kitchen when I’m baking Thea! Why don’t you ever listen!”

Y/n has been a little strung up lately. That’s probably the understatement of the century. Maybe if she hadn’t been put in charge of the shop for the first time by herself while her mother went to gather supplies and place orders for said shop, she wouldn’t be so stressed. She’s only 22 years into her eternal lifetime. She’s yet to learn the virtue of patience, her mind never ceasing to run with ideas and thoughts and feelings.

Her mother always griped about how she needed to take a deep breath and let go of the tension in her shoulders because now that she had stopped ageing- she had all the time in the world (literally) to do everything she was worried about. Y/n would argue that she’s not worried so much as eager. She’s just very excitable.

“Why do I even bother yelling at you anymore.” Y/n grumbled, flicking her wrist in the direction of the broom closet. The broom and dustpan came floating out and got to work sweeping up the bits of flower seeds and petals that had dropped off the table instead of into the mortar like she had planned.

Y/n’s never been known for her cleanliness.

Out of the blue, the hair on the back of her neck and arms stood at full attention, a warm shiver shooting down her spine. What the hell? She thought to herself. Thea didn’t seem bothered by whatever energy was coming closer so she knew it wasn’t any danger, but it was something. Y/n flicked her wrist once more, quickly sending the broom away and going to hide behind a wall where whoever this was couldn’t see her.

The little bells above the door chimed, alerting anyone inside that someone had just arrived. In walked, who Y/n thought to be, the most beautiful boy she thinks she’s ever seen. Chestnut curls shielded by a knit beanie, sea glass eyes, broad shoulders, a kind smile on his face. He looked as ethereal as she was.

She felt the earth shift under her feet, her heart speeding up slightly in his presence. He was magnificent, she thought. The shiver she felt was steadfast and unchanging, finding a home in the goosebumps covering her whole body. She had never felt like this before.

The witch watched from behind the wall as the man gazed about the shop, his hands rested behind his back. In a pair of black jeans with a rip in the knee and a white tee shirt with a cardigan thrown over it, he shuffled about.

Y/n took a deep breath, collecting herself before making her presence known. She walked out from behind the wall, stepping behind the main checkout counter and clearing her throat lightly.

“Welcome in! I’m Y/n, let me know if you need any help!” She said, trying not to cringe at how scripted that sounded.

His head popped up, eyes connecting with hers and that’s when they both felt the energy in the room grow. Thea came sauntering out of the kitchen area in the back, Y/n made a mental note to check the muffin batter for cat hair later, no doubt at the electrical charge of the room.

She didn’t quite understand what was going on. Was this another witch? No, she would have felt that energy differently. So he had to be a mortal. But why did it feel like she had just been set on fire in the best way possible.

“Thank you…” He muttered, eyes glazed over. “M’Harry, by the way.”

Harry.

What a magical name, she thought.

There was a pause, where neither of them wanted to move, in fear of this moment passing and never getting to feel like this ever again.

It felt like having a picnic on a warm summer day, where it’s not too hot but just right. It felt like the first breath of fresh Spring air, like hearing a baby giggle. She felt fuzzy and warm. Like she was wrapped in a hug. Y/n felt… peaceful. She felt all of her anxiety about the shop melt away, as if it had never been there.

Harry smiled at her, a pink tinge coating his skin, and pulled his eyes away (he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by staring), continuing on with his peruse of the shop. He had no idea why he was here, truly. Didn’t realize where he was until he pushed through the door. He doesn’t even know what any of this stuff is, he’s just looking so it seems like he knows what he’s doing.

He felt something brush his ankle, looking down and seeing a fluffy snow white cat with striking green eyes (just like his!), and cooed at her.

“Is it alright if I pet her?” He asked, looking back up at Y/n. He would take any chance he got to look at her. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. With her shiny hair and kind eyes, a smile that made you want to hug her. She looked so welcoming. He felt… oddly peaceful.

“Yeah of course! She’s my little attention whore, aren’t you Thea?” Y/n giggled and Harry thought his heart would stop right there. Her little giggle was the most glorious sound he’d ever heard, he decided.

She got up from her little stool behind the counter and floated over to him, using her cat as an excuse to get closer. She just couldn’t figure out why she had such a pull to him. It didn’t make sense to her. Maybe he was a witch and was just masking his energy really well, maybe he was some sort of other creature, or maybe… no, that can’t be it.

Well…

Maybe… he’s her Flame. Her Twin Flame… Her Soulmate.

No. There’s no way. It’s so rare for witches to find their flames. And especially at such a young age. Y/n’s parents didn’t find each other for almost 75 years, and here she is at just 22, stumbling upon some magical happenstance where her Flame just saunters into her family’s shop.

Harry scratched behind Thea’s ear, a motor-like pur erupting from her little belly. She nuzzled into his touch, and then sprung up onto his shoulder from the table, startling the man. Y/n giggled at the look on his face, reaching up to scratch just above Thea’s tail, her favorite spot.

“She does that when she likes someone.” Y/n explained. A blush appeared on his face at this.

She likes him.

“So was there anything in particular you were looking for?” Y/n continued, hoping to make more conversation with him. Her fingers are buzzing, wanting to reach out and hold his hand or touch his arm, anyway she can get her hands on him really, but she knows that would be inappropriate so she refrains (however difficult it may be).

Harry was in the same boat. He felt the need to wrap her up in his embrace and never let her go. It was the strangest thing he thinks he’s ever felt.

“Honestly, no. I don’t really know what any of this stuff is… I didn’t even realize when I walked in but I didn’t want to look like a psycho just walking in and out of shops randomly.” A shy smile displays on his features.

Y/n chuckled. This furthers her hunch that he is, in fact, her Flame. Getting a random urge to come in here could only mean that the invisible string tying them together was leading him to her. Pulling them closer and closer everyday until this very moment, when they were fated to meet. Written in the stars to know each other, whether that be for love or friendship only time would tell.

She really hopes it’s love.

“Ok… We’re kind of just a general shop. We carry crystals, herbs, spices, oils, candles, and my mother does a lot of crafts, so we sell those here too.” Y/n went on to explain, Harry’s eyes flitted around to all the things she mentioned. He saw glittering crystals, by themselves but also made into jewelry like rings and necklaces, he saw bundles of different flowers and vials of liquids he assumed were the oils she mentioned.

“What is all this stuff for?” He questioned. He had never heard of anyone suddenly needing Oxeye Daisies or black onyx crystals, but he’d never been one to judge.

Y/n paused, thinking of the best way to explain everything. Practising “witchcraft” wasn’t an unusual topic to humans, but they didn’t know that witches with magic that was (semi-inaccurately) portrayed in movies and tv shows actually existed.

“Uhm, anything in the shop can be used for a number of things. Apothecary, gardening, herbal remedies, manifestation.” She explained. He nodded along with her words, doing his best to focus on what she was saying rather than just her. His body was tingling the closer she stood. He never wanted this feeling to go away.

Whatever this feeling was.

Harry looked around, his sights landing on a shelf full of colorful candles. His eyes lit up, trotting over to them, picking up one that was a light lavender color. He didn’t know he was drawn to this one in particular, but something had pulled him to grab it. Something was telling him to buy it, bring it home, and burn it on his bedside table, right next to his head every night.

It was Y/n’s favorite color.

The girl's cheeks burnt when she realized this was the one he had picked out. The occurrence might seem random to anyone passing by, anyone who didn’t know two halves of a soul had just been reunited with one another after being apart for however many years. But Y/n knew, and hopefully Harry would know soon.

She didn’t want to scare him though. He would think she was crazy. Imagine a random stranger that you’ve never seen before in your entire life tells you that you’re meant to spend the rest of your life together. He would run away screaming.

So she has to start slow.

“Think I might get a few candles…” Harry trails off, looking around at all the different shapes and sizes of colored wax sitting before him. Y/n smiles at this and nods, letting him know she’ll be at the counter if he needs anything.

Please need something, she hopes to herself.

He didn’t end up needing anything, but he ended up purchasing 3 candles, all of them being that same lavender color.

* .

. * .

It was a few weeks later when Y/n felt a familiar tingle run down her spine. Harry must be near, she thought.

She had spent the last fortnight and then some moping about the shop and her flat, hoping her Flame would turn up again. Her mother, Asteria, had been ecstatic when she heard that her daughter had found her Flame, and empathised with her pain, understanding that he was a mortal and it was difficult to form bonds with them quickly. The woman always found it interesting how the most indefinite creatures took the longest to form their bonds. But then she remembered they had no knowledge of Twin Souls and often settled for one not fated to them.

“Mama, he’s close. I can feel him!” Y/n cried, tidying her appearance in the reflection of the window. She hopes to the Stars that he’s coming to see her and not just passing through.

Waving away the brooms fluttering around the shop, she busies herself restocking shelves. Asteria had just finished a new batch of candles that needed shelving. The mother had been trying new recipes lately and was excited to see how they would fare.

Y/n almost misses the little chime of the bells signaling that someone has just entered. If it weren’t for the energy in the room skyrocketing and all the hair in her body standing at attention, she wouldn’t have noticed it at all. Turning, her gaze falls upon a familiar set of sea glass eyes and chestnut curls that have enchanted her mind every passing second since the first time they met. She tried her damndest to hide her grin, but had to turn away so he wouldn’t be able to see it.

Harry looked around the shop before his gaze fell upon the girl he hadn’t stopped dreaming about since he last was here. There she stood, back turned to him, with her shiny hair and adorable outfit. In a lavender colored sundress, hair pulled back by a white scarf, she fussed about the candle shelf that Harry had searched the last time he came.

Everytime he burned that candle, he thought of the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about the different items in the shop and how she smiled at him when he asked her a question.

Harry had never been one to jump into things quickly. He was the kind of guy that liked to get a feel for a situation before he really dived into it. But there was something about this girl that made him want to jump in head first, fearless. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her, daydreaming about little scenarios that he wished would happen between them.

He knows he sounds crazy, but he has a crush on her. And he’d only met her once! That is so not like him at all.

Y/n turned once again, sure that she had calmed the burning in her cheeks, greeting Harry as if she hadn’t thought of him in weeks.

“Welcome in,” she says, wondering if it would be weird to him if she remembered who he was, she decided she doesn’t care, “Oh, hi Harry!”

“Hello Y/n!” He smiles. Y/n felt her heart stutter in her chest when her name fell from his lips. As if she was floating (she had to check to make sure she actually wasn’t), she followed the sound of his voice, going to stand before him. Her first instinct was to hug him, and she was very sad that she had to stop herself.

“What brings you back?” She asked, itching to reach out and hold his hand. His gaze flits around for a few seconds before landing back on her face, a rose tint now on his cheeks.

“I- uh, I don’t really know. I just felt like I needed to come back…” He stuttered. A smile graced her lips, causing an identical one to grow on his own. Asteria watched from behind the counter, beaming at the couple.

“Y/n dear, who’s this?” The witch called. Y/n snapped out of her love-drunk haze, looking to her mother.

“Mama, this is Harry. He came in a few weeks ago while you were away.” She answered, giving her a look that said “please don’t say anything.” Asteria had a tendency to butt into her daughter's life, and Y/n needed to figure this out on her own.

Thea came flouncing out from whichever corner she had burrowed herself into and nosed at Harry’s feet before launching herself onto Y/n’s shoulder and staring at Harry from her new height advantage.

“Well look at you Thea, sittin’ all pretty up there!” Harry reached out to scratch behind her ears. Thea began purring loudly, louder than she did when Y/n petted her (Y/n did her best not to roll her eyes at her attention whore cat). The one thing the girl loved about this was now she had a reason to step closer to the boy before her. He smelled like citrus and woods, with a hint of weed (she’s not judging, she just wouldn’t peg him for a stoner so it’s a little surprising). She let it take over her senses until all she could think about was HaryHaryHary, having to stop herself from purring just like the cat.

“Well, whatever led you back here, it’s nice to see you again!” She blushed, deciding to let her affection for him shine through lightly. Y/n realized she didn’t really want to waste time dancing around mortal niceties. She didn’t want to scare him off but she wouldn’t feign disinterest. The witch wanted to make it clear she was smitten with him. So this was her way of starting slow, letting her blushes be seen, maybe resting a gentle hand on his bicep if he says something that makes her laugh, letting her longing gazes be caught before she looks away.

Like she said before, she’s going to start slow.

“I am too…” Harry wondered if maybe she felt the things he was feeling too. If she couldn’t stop thinking about him the way he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He wondered if it would be weird to ask her out. See if she wanted to get dinner with him, or have a picnic in a park on a sunny afternoon while he stared, as uncreepily as he could, at her bright smile and star-stricken eyes.

Very quickly, like it almost didn’t happen, Y/n saw a blush pink haze surrounding the boy. He was feeling love. The heat in her cheeks rose, fluttering of her heart increasing.

Now she knew for sure, he was her soulmate for love- not friendship. Thank the Stars!

* .

. * .

The next few weeks, Harry would come in every few days just to see Y/n. After realizing that she might be feeling the way he was, he wanted to make it clear to her that he was smitten. So he’d come in after he got done with whatever he’d been doing that day, bring her flowers or a blue-raspberry red bull italian soda (he saw her drinking one one day when he came by) and they would talk and sometimes he’d bring food if it was late and they would eat at the counter in the back kitchen. It became a routine, and he started showing up almost everyday. On slower days, she would close up early, so as not to have a single distraction from her Flame.

The two would talk about the most obscure things, not giving a rat if others heard them cackling at each other's jokes and misspeakings (Y/n stumbled over her words quite a bit when she was tired, he came to realize. He thought it was adorable).

In return for the beautiful flowers and the delicious drinks he’d bring her, Y/n would give him little spell jars or charmed items to make his life easier. He didn’t know they were spelled or charmed, but he thought it was cute how she gave him a lavender colored pen and told him he would think of her every time he wrote anything down (she had charmed it to always spell things correctly) or a little jar filled with lavender and chamomile buds, a few drops of lavender oil and a small amethyst crystal sealed in white wax to help quell the anxiety he’d been feeling with his job lately.

He appreciated them more than any material thing she could have purchased for him. He liked that she wanted him to think about her or that she wanted to do away with his ailments. He came in with a cold once and she spent the better part of an hour fussing over him, telling him all these little tricks to clear his sinuses and giving him different blends of herbs and spices that should clear this up in no time! He thought she was very adorable, worrying over a little cold and wanting to make him better.

Harry found that each time he left her, the force that pulled him to her grew stronger. He wanted to be in her presence more and more every time he walked out the door of the shop. The boy still didn’t really understand what it was about her, but he’s long since stopped asking questions and was just rolling with the punches.

Speaking of things Y/n did that Harry thought was cute- the things she said enamoured him, rendered him so speechless sometimes all he could do was sit there and look at her, (ironically) wondering what magical force brought her to him. He had no idea that the Universe herself was the one who chose his favorite girl.

“Oh Stars Thea! Get out of the nettle! It makes you sneeze, silly cat!”

“Stars forbid you ever listen to me, mother.”

“Althea Rose get your furry ass away from that hot wax before I feed you to the hellhounds!”

He loved how she was always saying Stars where he would normally say Jesus Christ. He never was one to be into religion but it was just something people around him said.

As the weeks went by, they began to sit closer and closer to each other. What started as across the table from one another, began to turn into her at the head and him on the corner next to her, then both of them sitting on one side but a bit of space between them, and then side by side, thighs touching, on the bench seat. Eventually, Y/n would lay one of her legs over his and he would rest his hand innocently on her skin, his thumb absentmindedly brushing back and forth, tapping his fingers to an imaginary beat as she told him a story about a kooky customer that came in.

That was another thing he loved that she said a lot: kooky.

Their goodbyes had grown more and more affectionate over time as well. From a little wave and a shy smile to a little hug, to a bear hug with a kiss on the temple from Harry.

Things were moving very swimmingly. Y/n was happy with the progress the two had made in getting to know each other. She had learned that he worked at a marketing firm but his passion was music, that he was in a band when he was in high school, and he’s from a village in Manchester.

Harry learned that Y/n has a degree in herbology and really likes the woods, and the show The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (despite the inaccurate depiction of witches, she thinks the characters are pretty).

Y/n has been trying to figure out the best way to tell Harry about her… lifestyle. It’s going to be a big shift in his reality and she worries that she’s going to overwhelm him. Her parents didn’t have this problem because they were both witches, but she had been fated to a mortal, which she’s not complaining about because loves Harry and all his human afflictions (loves!), but it’s quite a task keeping him in the dark until she’s ready to shed light on everything.

Especially on a day like today.

Her mother is out again, leaving her in charge of the store, again! And as previously mentioned, Y/n gets a little strung up when she’s left in charge. She’s forgetful, her mind flying all over the place. Her messiness gets worse, leaving different things all over the place (she somehow left a grimoire in the refrigerator at home), losing things… Basically, Y/n’s not doing so hot at the moment.

A busy spell had just finished, she had like 7 different customers in at once, all of them needing her for different things and all the chamomile and lavender oil rubbed behind her ear in the world couldn’t calm the anxiety flowing through her at the moment. She’d been so strung up that she hadn’t noticed the warm golden shiver running down her spine or all the hair on her body raising to attention or the jingle of the bells on the door when Harry walked in.

Walked in to see… the brooms sweeping up by themselves? And different pots and pans flying back into place… with no one carrying them. And Y/n muttering words he didn’t understand while her fingers wiggled, making the pestle inside what he learned to be called a mortar, moving by itself.

To say the least, Harry was very confused. And a little scared. Was he dreaming? Did today even happen? Was he still at home lying in bed?

The only thing that makes him realize he’s not is the shriek Y/n let’s out when she sees him standing frozen in the doorway, eyebrows pulled together in confusion (and a little bit of terror), mouth agape like he wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start. All at once, every moving item ceased and dropped, including the pots and pans which made a very loud noise, scaring Thea so much that she did the loud “meow!” that you only hear cats do in movies, and Y/n let out a quiet“Shit!”

“Harry…” She muttered, standing up slowly and treading towards him.

“Um… Y/n. What- what the fuck… was all of that?” He stuttered, and she continued to walk to him.

“Love, why don’t we go sit down and I’ll explain everything to you!” Y/n said slowly. She had taken to calling him Love lately, not being able to stop herself. They had yet to really “confess their feelings” to the other, but it was like a silent thing that no one said but they both just knew. So the name didn’t surprise him. Actually in the midst of all this craziness (and how his whole world had just seemed to be flipped in a matter of 5 seconds) he was clinging to the familiarity of the pet name.

He nodded, his eyes glazing over as he tried to wrap his head around what he was seeing. Y/n waved her wrist, everything that had dropped seeming to come to life again and be put back into their rightful places. Harry stared in amazement. Seeing it for the second time really drove the nail into the coffin that holy shit this is really happening…

They sat down side by side on the bench where they normally did but Y/n didn’t put her leg over his like they had grown used to. She missed the contact but figured a little space while she explained everything would be best for her Flame. Harry didn’t agree and tugged her closer to him. She didn’t fight it.

“Ok,” She sighed, cracking her knuckles as she took a deep breath, “Harry… my darling Harry. I need you to keep an open mind while I tell you all of this ok? It’s gonna be a lot for you to take in and I don’t want you to get a headache.” He nodded, and she took his hands in her own, running her thumb over his palm and channeling positive energy between the two of them. She saw Harry relax a little, letting her know it worked. He was ready (as ready as he could be) to hear what she had to say.

“Love, I’m a witch.” She says, letting it sink in for a moment. Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment. Y/n wonders if he’s even breathing. The strong pulse thumping in his wrist is a steady reminder that he’s ok, just shocked. (Very, very shocked).

“I come from a very long line of very powerful witches. I have magic, kind of like you see in movies and tv shows except I don’t worship the devil or eat children. None of us do. We’re usually very gentle creatures, unless we’re put in danger. Witches don’t use magic to hurt others, quite the opposite actually.”

“So… you cast spells and stuff?” He asks quietly. She breathes a laugh through her nose, nodding her head, continuing to channel him by rubbing her thumbs over his palms.

“I do, that’s what you saw me doing at the counter. I was actually strengthening the anti-anxiety jar I gave you a few weeks ago, because you told me you had a big project coming up and I didn’t want you to get too stressed out.” The girl said.

Harry couldn’t really focus on one thing for too long, letting his gaze flit around the kitchen area. He felt oddly… calm.

“Why do I feel so calm right now? I feel like I should be freaking out a little bit more than I am…” He voiced, finally looking into her eyes.

“I’m channeling you… look.” She said, pointing her gaze to their hands. He sees her thumbs rubbing gentle circles into his palms and looks back into her eyes.

“You’re casting a spell on me right now?” Harry wonders out loud.

“Channeling isn’t necessarily a spell, I’m just focusing and directing positive energy onto you right now, to help keep you calm. Like I said, I don’t want you to get a headache or pass out on me. I can stop if you want me to though!” She added quickly at the end but he shook his head.

“No, don’t stop…” He almost cried, pulling her closer to him.

“Ok, I won’t. It’s ok!” She shushed him, letting one of her hands float to his cheek, brushing over his cheek bone and pushing a fallen curl out of his eyes, before her hand found his again.

“Was it a spell that made me want to come in here that first day?”

“No baby, that’s actually a little different. This might be a little much so you gotta bear with me ok?” She explained and he nodded, heaving out a heavy breath.

A beat of silence passes and Y/n lets her eyes lock with his.

“We’re Twin Flames… or what you would know as Soulmates. We were fated to be together. That’s why you felt a pull to come in here. We were… destined… to meet each other.”

Harry doesn’t say anything and Y/n feels like her heart is about to beat out of her chest. She knew he was going to find out someday, but really didn’t expect that day to be this one. This crazy long day where everything had seemed to just bubble over and explode. She should have known something was going to happen when this morning, the flame on the candle she had lit for Harry on her altar was taller than it ever had been. She had written it off to him just thinking about her or something (if this was the case, it would be to the ceiling all day everyday because he never stops thinking about her), but she should have known. And now, here she was, terrified that Harry was going to walk away from her. She would understand if he did, it’s a lot to take in, and having your whole world flipped on its head is a bit much.

It would still break her heart though.

“So… this is normal?” Harry broke his silence.

“Is what normal?”

“That I want to be around you all the time? That I think about you all the time? What I’m feeling is normal?”

Y/n’s face softens. He’s so cute, she thinks. She could just wrap him up in a little bow and keep him all to herself for the rest of time.

“Yes, baby. It’s normal! I’ve been feeling the same things as you ever since we first met!” Harry’s mind is a little clearer now, so he picks up on the new pet name. Baby. He likes it, he decides.

“You feel this way too?” He looks like a little puppy right now, Y/n could just cry. She nodded her head, scooting impossibly closer to him, practically sitting in his lap. It seemed now that he was even calmer than he had been before, even without her channeling. She stopped for a second to test his reaction and he was ok. He didn’t tense up, eyes didn’t well in tears, didn’t lose consciousness. So she moved her hands to cup his cheeks now, feeling him lean into her touch.

“You’ve been the only thing on my mind since before you even walked through the door that first day. You’re in my dreams every night, I see you every time I close my eyes, I’m completely taken with everything you do.” Y/n confesses, feeling a weight lift off her chest.

“I know it seems fast to you, as a mortal. Your kind usually takes this kind of thing slowly, really learns a person before you become vulnerable. Out of fear for being judged or whatever it might be, but I would never judge you. I want you to know it’s ok to let your guard down with me. Whatever you're comfortable with! I don’t want to overwhelm you in any way, and I know all of this is so so much to take in. I just want what’s best for you, my Love.”

It’s not lost on Harry that she adds my before Love. He feels his heart flutter.

“I’m taken with everything you do too. Absolutely everything.” He whispers, if he speaks too loudly the moment might be lost.

They stare into each other's eyes, feeling the energy in the room grow. Flames from the lit candles around the room grow tenfold, reflecting the rising energy. Harry has half a mind to break his gaze from the girl before him, seeing the tall flames before bringing his eyes back to hers. He sees her gaze drop to his lips repeatedly. He doesn’t think she even realizes that she’s leaning in to him, but he’s not going to stop her.

When she’s so close he can feel her breath fanning over his face, she pauses, looking back up to his eyes, silently asking for permission. With her hands still cupping his cheeks gently, she closes the distance between them, pressing her lips delicately to his. Harry places his hands in two places: her waist and her neck. He pulls her in closer, pressing their lips together more firmly. A wildfire spreads from head to toe on both of them. It seems as though time has paused for this very moment, and again the earth shifts. A piece of the universe has just been restored, two halves of a soul reunited.

Harry’s fingertips send sparks flowing down her spine, she hums against his lips. The kiss is simple, just two people getting to know each other, learning the other's body, but it’s long. It’s not just one peck. Harry presses his lips against hers multiple times, slotting her bottom between both of his.

When Y/n pulls back to catch her breath, Harry chases after her, not ready to end this moment yet. She chuckles and grants him a few more kisses until she really is about to pass out because she needs to breathe. Pushing him gently, she breaks the kiss and rests her forehead against his, keeping her eyes closed.

She so badly wants to let the three words sitting on the tip of her tongue go, but doesn’t want to overwhelm him with too much all at once.

“Do you feel that?” He whispers, pulling her to sit astride his lap. She moves pliantly, letting him take control of the situation.

The air feels charged, thick, like it should be hard to breath but it flows, smooth as water, into their lungs.

Y/n’s head feels heavy, like she’s high on every drug there ever was, her mind fuzzy, unable to think outside of this moment. Outside of this little wrinkle in time where Harry is the only other thing that exists.

“Yeah,” She whispers back, reconnecting their lips, slotting them together over and over until their lips are puffy and red. Harry slides his hands around her waist, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her flush against him, not even a slip of paper would fit.

Pulling away, Harry heaves in a deep breath, squeezing Y/n’s hips.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long…” He says, nudging his nose against hers. She smiles, letting his affections wash over her, warming her eternal soul.

“This doesn’t freak you out?”

“Oh, I’m so freaked out but I'm kind of just going with it, living in the ambiguity and all that shit.” He heaves a laugh through his nose, pressing kisses to her cheek and down her neck, smoothing his hands up and down her back.

This was the best possible outcome of the situation, if Y/n had to be honest. It could have gone so many ways. Harry being freaked out but rolling with it… she’ll take it.

“How about we make dinner and you can ask me any questions you have?” She suggested and he nodded.

So they did just that. But Y/n closed the shop early and they went back to her place. Hand in hand they walked the few blocks, side glaces of reassurance and little squeezes of the hand, letting the other know they were there, and they weren’t going anywhere, with Thea in her little travel backpack (that she was absolutely in love with surprisingly).

They came upon an unsuspecting alleyway. Harry thought they were just passing through as a shortcut but Y/n stopped walking in the middle of a blank brick wall and muttered a few words she didn’t understand while waving her hands. He started to realize maybe this wasn’t just a shortcut.

Before his eyes, a door appeared. His brows shot up in surprise (he’s gonna get worry lines on his forehead if he doesn’t stop doing that, he realizes). Y/n looked over her shoulder at him, trying to hide a smirk but the look on his face was too good.

“Pretty wicked huh?” Harry didn't say anything, just chuckled and nodded, following her when she opened the door and a set of stairs appeared. Walking up the dimly lit hallway, they come to another door with the cheeky The Witch Is In sign.

“Cute.” Harry smirks at her and she laughs, opening it and letting him walk through first.

“Make yourself at home! I’ve got records on the shelf over there, you can pick one if you want. I’m just gonna feed Thea and get her all settled and we can get to making dinner.” Y/n explained. Harry ventured off into her living room, seeing the shelf she was talking about and browsing through. There were many different artists from Fleetwood Mac to Taylor Swift to Weezer. He picks out Hozier's self-titled album and puts it on, the beginning of Take Me To Church crackling through the speakers.

“Good choice,” He hears from behind him and smiles, turning around to see the girl he was apparently destined to spend the rest of his life with standing before him.

“Jackie and Wilson has been stuck in my head the last few days so,” He said, sauntering over to her and snaking his arms around her waist.

Taking a look around, he sees many different trinkets and items similar to what was in the shop. A lot of jars filled with different things, candles of all different colors, crystals, a broom (he didn’t realize witches actually had brooms but ok), among other things that he didn’t know the purpose of.

“Wait… how are there windows in here? I didn’t see any outside.” He asked, pulling back from the hug and looking at her.

“Well, there aren’t any windows in the alley. But there’s also a glamour spell on this building so nobody can see my apartment. That’s why you can’t see the door until I do the little thing you saw me do.” She answered. A sheepish smile broke onto his face.

“Oh,” he said and she laughed from her chest, petting a few fallen curls back from his forehead. She could get used to this, she thinks as she stares into his eyes, green as the forest and wide with wonder at everything he’s discovered today.

Who knew the girl he was falling in love with would be a witch… with actual powers.

* .

. * .

“Wait so, if no one can see your front door… how do you get mail?” Harry asked, reaching around Y/n for the salt.

“At the shop,”

“Oh,” He says. She laughs, kissing his cheek and continuing on cutting up veggies for the salad they're making.

“Have you always been able to do magic or was it something you grew into?” Y/n thought back to when she was little, remembering how she struggled to harness her powers for a few years before she started getting the hang of things.

“I always had powers, but imagic isn’t something you just wake up and know how to do so it took a while for me to really settle into and control. Magic is a skill, same as reading and writing, so I had to be taught and I had to work on it. Does that make sense?” She pauses while she explains, looking into his eyes. Harry nods, but his light hearted curious expression turns into one of embarrassment and she doesn’t understand why.

A rosy red color surrounds him, telling her he was feeling… embarrassed? Why did he feel embarrassed?

“Baby? What’s going through your head?” She asks, wanting to help him feel better.

She doesn’t like when he’s feeling anything other than happy!

“I just… I feel like I’m asking you so many questions about all of this stuff and it’s just tough to wrap my head around I guess.” She puts the knife down and sets her hand on his wrist, stopping from what he’s doing. She places her other hand on his shoulder, coaxing him to face her.

“Harry, this is a lot to take in, yeah? It’s not something you can just find out and move on from. It’s gonna take time to process. You’re gonna feel a lot of emotions, and that’s ok! I would be worried if you weren’t feeling a little off, as much as I hate that you’re not feeling 100%.”

She places a series of gentle pecks on his lips, doing her best to soothe him in any way.

“Ask all the questions you want! You don’t have to worry about being judged or saying something wrong, you have a right to be curious.” She feels him relax in her hold which in turn makes her relax.

“Thank you for being patient with me,”

He’ll get used to this, he thinks. He’ll get used to the fact that real witches actually exist, he’ll start to understand the words she mutters when she waves her hands, he’ll get it eventually. But right now, he doesn’t really get it, he’s not really used to it. But she’s worth it. She’s worth more than everything.

“I think you’re the one thing I know how to be patient with,” Again, she wants to mutter those three words on the tip of her tongue, but he’s already been through so much today, she doesn’t want to overwhelm him any more than he already is. So she’ll wait, because one day (hopefully soon) he’ll be ready to hear them.

“Can you do a spell? I kind of want to see how they work…” Harry asks after a moment of them just enjoying the silence that only really comes when two people understand each other.

She chuckles and nods, telling him she will show him a few spells after dinner. He agrees and they go back to making their meal, dancing around each other and laughing just like they always did and it felt good. Felt like this would be ok. Y/n was still scared because he could still decide to leave, that this was too much for him. That she was too much for him.

But for right now, things were ok.

* .

. * .

“Amoris et lux sum ego ipse, et carorum beatum facere potest, per potentiam solem et lunam, ut superius, et inferius.”

(I am love and light, I bring happiness to myself and my loved ones, By the power of the sun and moon, as above, so below)

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything weirder in his life...and his college roommate freshman year was a conspiracy theorist.

As Y/n spoke the words, she stirred a brew of tea infused with different herbs clockwise. He watched from beside her as she did this, his hand placed on her thigh so that his energy could be used in the spell along with hers.

Before she said the spell, she told him to set an intention and he had no idea what that was so she did a little lesson after reassuring him that his question was valid. (He’s still feeling insecure about not understanding anything she was talking about.) She told him to “close your eyes, take a deep breath, and clear your mind. Think of something you want in life that isn’t material.”

His immediate thought was that he wanted to spread kindness and love in the world (Y/n did her best not to tear up at her Flame’s pure intentions) so she nodded, telling him to think about that and only that, and set her intentions to the same thing so the spell would work. Mixing lavender, rose petals, and chamomile in a large mug, she pours in hot water to steep the herbs and, as previously mentioned, stirs it clockwise (something about clockwise being for manifestation), , rubs her palms together and snaps her fingers, and snuffs out the candles she had lit.

When all is said and finished, Y/n pulls Harry into a sweet kiss, and then has him take a sip of the tea telling him be careful my Love, it’s still hot. He kisses her back, taking a sip of the tea (he’d never been one for lavender things but this was actually really good. He wonders if it has anything to do with the fact that Y/n made it).

“So we just drink this and then what?” He asks, handing her the mug.

“We sacrifice an animal,” She says, not skipping a beat and taking her sip. Harry chokes on his spit, gasping for a breath of air before the girl bursts into a fit of giggles.

“I’m just kidding, baby. That’s it. That’s the whole spell. You just have to honestly believe it for it to work.” She says and he heaves a sigh of relief.

“Don’t joke like that!” He whines, more giggles escaping from Y/n’s throat.

“I’m sorry bub, I won’t do that anymore.” She says, still fighting off laughs. They continue to sip the tea, Y/n telling Harry about different things she did during the day.

Harry looked upon her as if she hung the moon just for him, and was telling him all about how she did it. Without even realizing it, he started to feel warmer and like a buzz was coursing through his veins.

“I feel weird…”

“What do you mean you mean you feel weird?” She voiced, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead and then feeling his pulse. Both were normal.

“I feel warm and like I’m buzzing… Kind of like I’m high…” He explained and she nodded her head, a small sigh of relief escaping her.

“That’s the spell working baby. You’re ok!”

“Oh, ok. It just worried me a little,”

“You’re ok! I want you to tell me when something worries you or feels different or off.” She says, and places a hand on his thigh. Harry agrees and they continue with their conversation.

When they both took their last sips on the tea, they cuddled up on the couch, an incense stick and candle lit on the coffee table.

Y/n sat, manipulating the smoke and flame simultaneously while Harry watched with a wide eyed gaze. She had explained how this was something he would be able to learn if he wanted to, and that she had been practicing for years to be able to do both things at the same time.

“I started when I was… I want to say 5. It’s a simple skill that promotes concentration. You have to stay extremely focused to even manipulate one element at a time. It’s only been these last few years that I’ve been able to concentrate enough to do both.” She explained, taking a break. As much as she loved showing Harry all these different things, it took a lot of energy out of her and it had already been a dreadfully long day.

“How about we go to sleep and I’ll show you more tomorrow? I’m pooped!” Harry hums an agreement, lifting his head from her lap and letting her lead the way to her bedroom.

Light lavender walls adorned with shelves full of plants and different nicknacks, and a desk with more candles, herbs, and other eclectic items sat atop it.

“What is all of this?” He sifts through all the things on the desk, not touching as Y/n had explained to him at some point today, I know you don’t have any ill intent, but a lot of this stuff absorbs other people's energy which can mess up what I use it for, so look and don’t touch. If you want a closer look, I’ll pick it up. There are different colored stones of varied shapes and sizes and many candles. One in particular catches his eyes. A green one with a very tall flame with something carved into the side of it. “What’s up with this green candle?”

“This is my altar, and the green candle is the one I have lit for you. I’m assuming that because you’re here, it’s going a little crazy. Nothing to be afraid of! I’m actually going to put it out since you’re here with me.” She explained quickly, reaching towards the flame with her finger and snuffing it out.

“Wait, you had a candle lit for me?” His eyes rounded, a shy smile coming onto his lips. An identical smile graced her features as she turned to look at him.

“Yeah, I’ve had one lit for you since the day we met. I made a sigil and carved it into the side and keep it lit day and night as an extra layer of protection for you.” She explained. Harry felt his heart melt at this.

She couldn’t get any cuter, he thinks.

A candle lit for him… to keep him safe. That’s adorable.

He leans in and places a gentle kiss on her lips, brushing the little hairs away from her face.

Y/n led him further into her room where her ensuite bathroom was, giving him a tooth brush and letting him know he could shower if he wanted to. When he came back into the room after getting ready, Y/n laid out on the bed in a sports bra and shorts. He just wore his boxers.

Climbing into bed next to her, she cuddled up to him right away, his arm finding a home around her body and her head laid on his chest, listening to his heart beat.

“Been dreaming about this moment my whole life,” Y/n mumbled, cheek smushed against his skin, making her look all cute and cuddly. Harry had to hold back a coo at the sentiment.

“Me too Moppet, me too,” He sighed, and they both drifted off into warm, fluffy, dream-like states, wrapped in the safety of each other's arms.

* .

. * .

Walking down the street at night isn’t the best idea for normal women, Y/n had learned over her 22 years of life. But Y/n is not a normal woman. She’s a witch.

And while most women carry their keys between their knuckles and have tasers or pepper spray or mace at the ready, Y/n didn’t really need that. This was one of the only instances where she would use her magic to harm anyone. Like she’d said before- only when she’s put in danger (or someone else around her is put in danger).

So when a prick who reeks of whiskey starts tailing her, she waits for him to take the first blow. Waits for him to get a little too close, so she can turn around and unleash her wrath on him. All the while making it seem like it’s not her doing. Like causing a brink to fall off the roof above her and hit him in the head. She wouldn’t actually do that but a witch could dream.

No, she’ll trip him up without turning around and if he still insists on gaining her attention, she’ll spin around quick, flick her wrist and send him into an unconscious daze and let him sleep off his inebriation on the lovely warmth of the concrete sidewalk.

That’s exactly what she does.

“Hey sweetheart, where you goin’?” He slurs, beginning his trek behind her. She’s unresponsive which leads him to believe she’s playing hard to get because his fragile little man ego can’t fathom that a woman would ignore his attention.

“Oh c’mon baby don’t be like that!” He speeds up, already wobbling but this only serves to make him clumsier.

She does her thing, flicking her wrist in his direction (discreetly) so he trips, but this doesn’t stall him. He reaches out, effectively grabbing her arm. She whips around to face him, cheeks growing red hot with anger. Ripping her arm out of his grasp and twisting his arm around, she gets close to his face.

“Touch me again, I fucking dare you!” She snarls, doesn’t even realize her grip is burning into his flesh- her magic gets a little crazy when she’s mad. Releasing him (tossing his arm away from her in a rough manner), she flicks her wrist once again and mutters a quick “et obliviscere somnum*”, watching him fall to the ground, unconscious. She looked around to see if anyone was watching the scene go down but no one was sober enough to pay attention to some drunk bloke harassing a young woman.

*(forget and sleep)

She shakes off her frustration as she comes to a stop in front of an unfamiliar building. Where her Flame lives.

She had agreed to let him make her dinner at his house, so she packed an overnight back and made her way further into town. He had given her an address and while, yes she did use it, she also let their bond lead her to him. She just kind of knew where to go, it seemed. Harry had expressed that he felt something similar the first time he went into the shop, though he didn’t understand why he wanted to walk in- just felt like he had to.

Making her way up the stairs, she let’s Harry know she’s there, beginning to feel the familiar tingle rush down her spine. She hadn’t seen him for a week and a half since he's been busy with a project at work- a client wasn’t happy with all the work he and a coworker had done so they had to quickly re-do an entire proposal to meet the client's deadline. Needless to say- the little anti-anxiety jar she made him was coming in real handy lately. Y/n had also had him put citrine and amethyst points on his desk while he worked to help him focus and stay calm so he didn’t stress too badly.

She always had a little something to make his life easier, whether it be a stone, or a jar of different things (a spell jar, he’d learned), or whatever it may be- she always had something to help.

When she made it to his floor, he was standing there waiting for her with open arms. She ran to him, jumping into his arms and holding onto him tight.

“I missed you, my wild girl,” He muttered into her neck, spinning her around. Her face flushed without fail, her arms wrapping tighter around him.

“Missed you most,” She sighed, nuzzling into him.

“Don’t think that’s possible.”

She hummed in disagreement while he walked them inside, Y/n still wrapped around him like a koala bear. His house smelled of peach and mango. It’s sweet- just like him. The thought made her smile.

Giving him a big smacking kiss on the cheek, she pulls back to have a look at his face, seeing he’s smiling like an idiot. It warms her heart to see him smile, butterflies breaking out of their cocoons and fluttering about her tummy.

“What’re you smiling for?” She voices, giggling at him.

“M’ happy you’re here,” He sighed, “Don’t like not seeing you.”

“I don’t like not seeing you either,” She frowned, petting his wild curls back and placing little pecks all around his face.

His cheeks flushed at her affection.

Harry set Y/n down on the kitchen counter, standing in between her legs, hands resting on her hips. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers lightly, before slotting them together, fully indulging himself in his girl. She responds immediately, letting her hands rest around his neck.

She will never not be amazed by how soft his lips are. Kissing him feels like floating through clouds, like laying down in bed after a long day on your feet. Kissing him is like the first breath of warm summer air after the longest winter. Kissing him feels like coming home.

Y/n’s heartbeat picks up as the kiss becomes more needy, leaning into him further. Harry pulls her closer, his hands ghosting up the bare skin under her shirt and fiddling with the band of the bralette she’s wearing. A gasp escapes her lips when he pulled the fabric up, letting it snap back to her skin causing a smirk to grow on his face- struggling to keep up with her lips.

He kisses her breathless before pulling away, watching as her eyes flutter open and she heaves air into her lungs, her cheeks flushed and supple.

“Don’t want the food to burn,” He smirks again, hands falling away from her body, moving the pots and pans on the stove around to the counter so he could plate their dinner.

“Asshole,” He hears her mutter.

Harry could get used to this, having Y/n around. Being able to come home to her, make them dinner, make out in the kitchen, fall asleep together. He can’t believe he ever thought he loved anyone before she came along. There was just no way. Y/n came into his life and took over every aspect and now he couldn’t imagine a world without her in it. He hopes to the Stars he doesn’t have to.

Yeah, she’s got him praying to the stars now.

[messwriting]

Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

POISON AND PLEASURE

Osamu Miya (Post-Time Skip) x Mob Boss! Female Reader

“Backed into a corner, Osamu makes a deal with the devil -- you.”

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: oh boy. Dub-con (Osamu does consent, but it is coercion); MANIPULATION AND EXTORTION; slight gun play, lasts for a moment; Rough sex; Hate-fucking; Degradation/Humiliation; Spanking, also just for a moment; Oral sex, fingering; Orgasm Denial; Choking; Violence; Dash of corruption and prey/predator; Deep throat; Facial. Fucking in a kitchen/public place. Also, just in case, toxic relationship and money talk (lol). 

Word count: 9,889 (such a nice number)

A/N: Oh, this has been a ride. This is my contribution to The Smut Pile Collab, hosted by the lovelies @present-mel​, @pleasantanathema​ and @linestrider​. I’m very excited to participate, since it is my first collab and they are my (home) first server. Big, huge, gigantic thanks to Lauren (my wife) for reading this over and beta-ing for me. <3

Well, Osamu fuckers unite! :insert elmo fire: (i’ve been on discord too much)

Osamu gets up from his seat inside his small office, looking from the small window on his door inside the already closed restaurant lit only by the lights that come in through the windows, the time being well after closing. Shady deals are mostly done late at night, he thinks. Right as he’s leaving the office and closing the door behind him with a key, the movement outside catches his eye and Osamu turns just in time to watch as the black BMW sedan of the year quietly comes to a halt right in front of his store. He frowns, knowing who that means. He'd much rather deal with the soldier responsible for his loan initially than with you.

Two men emerge from the front doors of the car, one immediately heading for the passenger door while the driver checks the street; they exchange a small nod before the man on the side of the sidewalk opens the passenger door and when he does, he positions himself behind it and immediately out of the way. Osamu could be intrigued by the action if he didn't feel so represented by it - he, too, would prefer to always be out of your way.

There’s power in the way you move, ingrained in your body as you descend an expensive white heel onto the concrete beneath you on the sidewalk, the other following suit while you propel yourself out, holding the frame of the car for support. It’s late at night and the street is fairly dark, but your simple presence, clad in an impeccable white suit with a deep neckline showing immaculate skin, is enough to brighten the place. There’s an elegant, expensive-looking and equally unnecessary coat draped over your shoulders and your hair was flawlessly styled.

You draw attention as the color black absorbs light-- from all and everything. Maybe it is because of your soul, he muses.  

Once you were standing outside the car, your driver marched to the door of the onigiri restaurant, holding it open for you while you strode inside, heels clicking on the pavement, the sway of your hips something Osamu may think beautiful to watch if it weren’t you.

“Hello, Miya-san. Hope you have better news for me this week.” You state as cheerfully as you can, calmly entering the establishment in a glory of white. You shed your coat once you passed the door, the driver catching it while the second man seemed to survey the outside area a little more before entering.

"Hi." Osamu extends his hand with the brown envelope. But you go around him and walk to the counter, calmly sitting down on one of the high stools while absentmindedly looking around his small restaurant.

“I missed my lunch today, so I hope you don’t mind me grabbing a bite before I leave.” You don’t look at Osamu when he doesn’t move for his place behind the counter immediately.

“We’re closed.” He says and you turn around just momentarily, piercing eyes on his profile. One of your men is still by the door and the look he gives the twin is also very compelling. Osamu feels his teeth gritting against the pressure he makes to shut his tongue. "Sure."

One of the goons comes closer and takes the brown envelope from his hands, without you even looking back as the burly tattooed man sits in one of the booths and starts counting the money.

“So, how’s business? I’ve heard you had a hard time these last two months.” You try to make small talk while checking the menu over the counter, carefully done nails threading along the restaurant menu. You only press a long nail against what you want and slide it to him, the 18K diamonds on your small and discreet Cartier watch and matching trinity ring on your finger catching more of his attention than your watchful eyes. Your jewelry is discrete, tasteful, and still amounting enough to buy the whole building where the Onirigi’s shop is located. Osamu's throat moves around nothing in reflex.

"Isn’t it obvious?" He grumbles while working against the counter, starting once he cleans his hands on the sink. He’d like to say his eyes keep diverting to your neckline because of your shining jewelry.

"So rude, Miya." you chuckle. “And I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Didn’t you pay for your little plumbing problem with my money? Is it only dirty to you once I’m present?”

"I don’t like people like you." Osamu doesn’t beat around the bush. And once he’s done with this payment he’d be completely free of you anyway, he doesn’t feel the need to pretend.

“Like me? You mean kind? All I ever did was help you out in a time of need.”

Osamu’s snort is disrespectful. The big man by the door moves but a simple turn of your hand in the air has him standing back, carefully looking down on Osamu, but unmoving. The other’s still counting the money rather calmly, the booth he’s seated unseeable from the shop window.

“You see, disrespect won’t take you far.” You say offhand, your watchful eyes on Osamu’s every move but with no real worry. You don’t trust him, but you know he’s not stupid.

"I don’t plan on it." He answers you after a beat, finishing wrapping the Salmon onigiri, disposing it carefully on a plate, and depositing it in front of you, accompaniments arranged around. Osamu doesn't use the fact that he doesn't like you as an excuse for a half-ass job; he's not the type, which is refreshing. Is what you like about him.

“Get started on a few others. I trust your recommendations.”

Osamu chooses to work quietly, in silence. You, however, are happily chatting away at his high stool as if this is just another day of bullying patrons. Maybe, for you, it is.

“You work very diligently.” You observe, eyes trailing from his toned arms to his deft fingers diligently working on the rice ball. He’s fast and experienced, rolling the nori around the triangled shaped steamed rice after successfully filling it with whatever he chose. Osamu just grumbles out something, or tsk, even when the way you look at his fingers takes an unexpected appreciative turn. 

“Maybe I should have you working overtime more.” You muse when he finishes the new onigiris and carefully places them in front of you. Osamu eyes you nastily, clearly displeased at your comment, which makes your lips split in a bigger smile despite your teeth closing around the rice ball. Even so, you’re pleasantly surprised by their flavor. 

“See, this is why I like you, Osamu.” The man frowned at your loose use of his first name, the way it rolls off your tongue so nicely. “You always deliver good work.”

“It’s my job.” Osamu retorts, unamused. “I do it right even if it’s for…” He catches his tongue right in time, his eyes catching movement from the man seated down at one of the tables, almost biting his tongue in the process. “--people like you.” 

Osamu watches while the burly man with tattoos moves discreetly despite his size, bends down so his mouth can be on your ear level, and murmurs something to you that he doesn’t quite catch. Your steely eyes are momentarily looking down when they blink and fly back to his face, a deep, blank stare that makes Osamu’s brows furrow. His back becomes straighter, a gripping feeling in his gut that triggers his fight or flight. 

He presses the urge down - tells himself he doesn’t have anything to fear.

He’s looking down at you, but Osamu feels small under your steady glare. Which in reflex, after several years of being stupid in pair, makes him want to act up.

"Seems to me you forgot some money, Miya."

"What?" His shocked tone is harsh and his eyes dart between you to the two men behind you, looking as steady as his walls and just as broad. "I counted it twice, everythin’ I owe ya ‘s there." His accent comes out pretty hard when he’s agitated.

"You only have fifty thousand here."

“I owe ya fifty thousand.” Osamu deadpans, almost sneering. “What ’re ya sayin’?"

“No, Miya. Fifty thousand is what you owed me two weeks ago.”

"You gave me an extension." He argues, brows furrowed.

"Exactly. I never said anything about the interest.”

"What?"

"You forgot the interest." You talk to him as if he’s a child, lips turning upwards at his confusion. Osamu has the gut feeling you’re enjoying every second of this. Every little moment of his deep discomfort. “You were informed about them when you accepted the loan, you know how they work. If you don’t pay on the due date, 10 percent interest each extra week you remain in debt.”

"Are you telling me I'm missin’ over 10K in interest rates?

"Yes." You say, smiling while tilting your head sideways, analytical. "Because you are."

“I'm paying you back,” Osamu grits through his clenched teeth, almost as if he’s willing it to be true, “Everything I owed ya is there. ”

"Not quite. You’re paying me back about--” You smile and press your lips in thinking, eyebrows furrowing while you calculate on your head the exact number.  “-- 82 percent of what you owe me.”

Osamu’s fists close, veins bulging while his heart picks up with the adrenaline rush of a fit of rage. Aggression flows on his body to the point where his entire frame trembles. His teeth are clenched, tightly forced together by his pressed jaw. His brain cannot reason beyond the need to vent that outrage, and with every second he spends looking at your pretty-faced indifference sitting in front of him at the counter, his outrage slowly merges into fury. Osamu stares back at your emotionless eyes, turns, and walks two strides before burying his fist in the nearest plaster wall, the pain grounding him, soothing his nerves. 

Pain is familiar -- what Osamu doesn’t like is to feel so deranged.

"Fuck!" He exclaims loudly but still controlled, turns his broad back to you, breathes deeply a few times, and then settles. You watch in delighted silence as he moves to the freezer, grabs an iced pack of random food, and puts on his busted knuckles, his eyes on the hole he left on the wall; The twin sighs audibly, then walks back while coldly regarding you and your two watchdogs who look over to him carefully, almost startled.

You, however, didn’t even flinch.

"So how much do I still have to give you?"

“I think the better question is: Can you pay?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Osamu grumbles out, his clenched jaw working over grinding teeth.

“That’s not how this works, Miya.” You tell him, your spine regally straight on the high seat as if it is your throne. Your lips move around the next word with malice. “When.”

“I--” Osamu stops to think for a moment, coldly calculating his financial situation. He has no way to withdraw money from the main branch to try and cover the losses of this branch, that would be simply stupid. There is no way for him to borrow money from Atsumu, who doesn’t know the concept of savings; Kita can not help him with such a great amount and he can’t recur to his poor parents. He also doesn’t want to resort to a bank at all, which doesn’t leave him many options. A new extension raises interests and he doesn't think he can do it beyond the amount he would need to add. Osamu's chest slowly fills with dread - he knows what’ll come if he doesn’t pay and he refuses to let his business become a Mafia parlor.

You watch Osamu slowly and quite meticulously calculate his options while engrossed in reasoning his dreadful situation; it’s thrilling, you almost can’t hide the contentment blossoming in your chest at his desperate situation. 

His expression shifts and turns sour, before slowly building back his blank façade but it’s too late, you already know his conditions and capacities - it’s your job to know. And you pride yourself in never making bets, just assuming calculated risks, so Osamu is right where you wanted him to be.

You do suspect the black-haired male is the same, that disinterested stare in his handsome face nothing short of sharp, his aloof behavior making every second of rilling Osamu up to this manifestation of discomfort all the more delightful. His only problem is that the man plays by rules you don’t. And what you want, you take.  

“I’ll need an extension for the rest.” He finally says, so absolutely angered it’s almost a curse. Even the hostility in his tone makes a shiver run down your spine, all the hairs on your arms standing on edge while your insides slowly melt, fed by the images in your brain.

“Really?” You playfully answer, faked surprise not made to convince anyone. Osamu seethes in place, labored breathing making his chest move up and down. “See, now I can’t help you out. I told you disrespect would only take you so far.” 

You get up from your seat, a show of touching your expensive black plump Louboutin on the ground. “I can’t let you out like this, not when you did such a show of being… rude.”

“What do you want.” Osamu almost spits at you once you’re rounding his counter, entering his space, closing on him. But he holds himself in place by pressing his nails hardly against the inside of his palms.

“First, some respect.” You sultrily say at him, much as a viper luring its prey. It rolls off your scarlet lips while you look up at him from your long lashes and perfect face. It makes Osamu want to wreck it.

“I don’t respect you.” He says in undertone since you’re close, sounding much like a hiss. 

“Doesn’t seem like a smart thing to say to someone to whom you owe so much.” You purse your lips, fake pout. “And you seem like a smart man, Miya. Or am I wrong?”

Osamu blinks, brows furrowing while he looks down at you, his mind working.

“Where are you going with this?” He eyes you warily, his eyebrows furrowing, his mind trying to gauge the target of your wicked intentions. “You want something.”

 You smile, pretty red lips stretching to show a beautiful line of white teeth and he’s surprised that the poison isn’t dripping. 

“See, I knew you were smart.”

“I’m not giving you my business.” Osamu hisses, like a cornered animal, but his instance shows he’s more prone to fight than flee. 

“Don’t want it.” You’re quick to tell him, innocence so out of place that it makes even clearer that you’re being honest. “I may need… services, though.” 

Osamu’s spine shoots straight once again, his eyes sharp boring into your face with cold disdain.

“I’m not laundering your money.” 

“Money launder, Miya? That’s a federal felony.” You lean back, supporting yourself on your forearms against the balcony, vigilant eyes zooming on him. “Are you saying I’m a criminal?” 

Osamu stays silent for the first time. There’s a predatory glint in your eyes that he understands as a warning, but that doesn’t stop him from upturning his brow and tilting his head in a small challenge. Osamu is appalled at what your upturning lips do to his guts, swallowing the saliva that pools in his mouth. He must be wrong in the fucking head to feel anything else than disgust in your sight, but even so, there’s no denying the way there’s a devilish pull around you, like the temptation of a capital sin.

“What I mean is… I have a specific service for you, personally. So you could pay me in...” Your tongue snaps against the roof of your mouth with a small noise, lips turning up in vile intention, “Different goods, per se.”

Osamu refuses to accept his train of thought, eyes pressing into slits while he watches you. His tone enunciates every word of his question. 

“What do you mean?” 

Your answering smile is sordid.

“You know what I mean Miya, we’ve just established you’re not stupid.”

“I’m starting ta’ think you are, though.”

Your laugh is loud, cheerful even. It makes him look at you as if you’re insane.

“Maybe.” You chuckle, retreating your arms back and straightening your posture on the tool, your neck tilting to the side. “But when I want something, I want it. So why deny myself that? I find the whole point of self-control to be so… pedestrian.” There’s this contempt in your tone at the word, mixing into trivial once your shoulders shrug your consideration for a whole chunk of what living in a society means. “Why hold myself to it if I’m above?” Osamu chooses to ignore that question.

“And what if I say no?” 

“You’re free to do what you want, I don’t own you.” Yet, you think, smiling. “Then again you still owe me 10k in interests and with your measly weekly 5k profit and the increased interest percentage with the second extension, we know what’ll happen to you…  And I’d hate for that to happen to you.”

The silence is heavy and acidic, burning on him. And you let the seconds pass, relishing in the way he seems to grow aggravated, jaw overworking around nothing to bite, hands in fists by his side. 

Oh, you’re close to defiling the pristine white of your designer clothes, the feeling brewing inside you threatening to spill between your thighs. Osamu looks absolutely delicious while being so emotional. 

You can see the gears turning inside his pretty dark-haired head, his eyes looking around and back at you, threading down your face, to your neck to the plunging neckline of your suit - you elongate your body while he watches, pleased to have his eyes on you, especially when they're burning with unattended violence and aggression. 

Osamu’s always so detached from the events happening around him, so unshakable in that aura of apathetic tranquility that it has caused you to develop an almost macabre interest in making him desperate. And now you are continually enjoying the result, the awakening of the flames that you always knew existed inside the small business owner.

 A few minutes pass while you’re just content to watch, the knot in your stomach growing tighter as you appreciate the size of his shoulders, the strength hidden in the strong biceps, the broad, defined torso that you know exists under that simple black outfit simply by gut feeling alone. You are tempted to ask him to turn around so that you can also enjoy his backside.

“Ok.” He says in a breath that seems more like it was ripped out of his chest. Like a dead man last world. You like this analysis. But of course, he can’t have it so easy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear. Did you say anything?”

Osamu purses his lips in discomfort, almost bites his tongue in the process of not telling you to go to hell.

 “I said,” he entones again, though his disdain is showing. “Ok”

“Ok, what?” You press. Oh, the way how his veins bulge on his forearms when his nails press on his palms have your hairs standing on end. You blink at him with a smile, all too pleased with yourself.

“Ok, I’ll do it.” Osamu squeezes out, brows furrowed in discovering your intentions. You’re leering with wicked prowess. 

“I don’t think that's how you say it, Miya.” Your brows go up in the tiniest indication of irritation. Your voice is calculated, though unable to hide the elation.

“Ok… Miss. I’ll do anything you want.” The words come out of his mouth sounding nothing like submission and much like he just cursed your whole generation, teeth grinding. Still, it makes you smile. You don’t want to break his spirit -- that’s why you chose him.

“That’s what I like to hear.” You say, pushing yourself out from the counter where you supported yourself. Coat long forgotten on top of it, you cross your arms in front of your breasts, knowing exactly how you look and very pleased at the way his eyes ever so slightly thread down your plunging neckline. “But not so fast. I didn’t tell you I’d accept it-”

“Ya just--” Osamu almost explodes, the arms he holded closed in front of him being thrown in the air as if he’d be ready to grab you. You just turn a hand up and reels at how he actually shuts up right after.

“I just told you, you could pay me in services.” You continue, one step closer to him in your expensive shoes, plump red lips dripping wicked intent. 

“But,” You start, closer to him enough that your breath is touching his heated skin and you can smell the sweat his aggression produced, your mouth salivating at the thought of tasting it on his skin. 

Your finger rests on his chest and you thread it up while speaking, looking him in the eyes, so pleased at finding so much life in his usual dead stare, “I don’t know if you’re good enough for the job yet.” 

Osamu stares back at you, hands in fists forcibly stuck next to his body, feeling the way your hot breath trails on his jaw and hating himself for what it brews in his insides. 

You stretch up in your heels, mouth dangerously close to his, which rests ajar to let his breathing out, enough that he can taste your mint breath on his tongue. 

“I think I may need a little…”  Your eyes thread down to his mouth and then back to his eyes while you speak your next words, “--taste, you know?”

Osamu flexes his fingers, swallows dry around his closed throat, stares at your face -- so close the downright devilish smile on your red lips seems to narrow his field-view -- and he blinks. 

The Miya thinks how he wants to wipe that smile off your sinful lips. How he wants to have you trembling, unattended, and disheveled. He thinks about you begging with his name on your tongue, for a release that he’ll keep denying at his disposition. Osamu thinks about leaving you sore and marked, thinks about wrapping his hands around your neck to watch as you struggle, turning purple, life evading you while he fucks you; consider this may be the only way he’d ever had the opportunity to get even close to a payback. 

Osamu wants you to experience mind-numbing pleasure you’d never before, uniquelly brought by him… and suffer through the rest of your fucking disgraceful life without being able to taste it again once he’s done paying his debt. Because Osamu swears on his fucking name and whole life, he’ll never give it to you again.

He can see your future already and in it you’re fucked - both by him and for him, while he’s the one who gets away. The twin wonders if you ever lost anything like this in your life, can feel himself growing hard at being the one to make you cry. 

“Sure.” Osamu smiles, lopsided, the devil himself being safer than him. “I’ll give ya the taste ya deserve.” 

Your eyes press slightly closer in mistrust, the wicked intention pouring from his body so close to yours impossible to miss. Either way, it's your win; that’s exactly what you’ve been bargaining for, despite your game being rigged from the start. 

You bring your face close to his as if you were going to kiss him and you are delighted when his eyes go down, although not completely closed, his pupils focusing on your lips. 

You smile and retreat, turning to your men still positioned exactly where you left them, behind the bench where you were sitting previously. They remain so observant and sharp as ever, despite looking more like gargoyles than men.

“I’ll need a moment.” You tell them in a serious tone, calm. They both look at you for a second and nod, their stances changing very little despite it. You turn back to him but walk inside his establishment as if you own the place, pushing through the doors that lead to the back and inside his small, equipped kitchen. Osamu follows in silence, briefly wondering if he’d be able to snatch a knife and bury it in your chest. 

There’s not much outside cooking paraphernalia, with two big counters and taller than normal table in the center. You stop right in front of it, your hand threading over it for a moment. 

“That’ll do.” You say while you turn around to look at him. You look so strikingly bright in the middle of his rather normal kitchen, clad in both lavish clothes and unblemished skin; he wants so much to be able to say your sight doesn’t thrill him -- but he can’t lie to himself. 

But then you pointedly eye him and then the ground in front of you, “Kneel.”

Osamu considers his previous thought about burying a knife deep in your chest but walks, stiff, to where you indicated. He kneels with even less disposition than when he walked towards you, the descent slow until the ground’s hard tile is registered against his knee. He makes a point of looking into your eyes as he lowers, hatred overflowing in waves that seem to give you a sick satisfaction, your eyes becoming slightly out of focus.

The Miya’s about to ask what you’d want him to do next, like pledge himself or some shit, when your hands move to the hidden zipper on the side of your impeccable white pants. 

It drops to the floor in one go, displaying the graceful planes of your hips, appeasing spanse of flesh, a small triangle of silk hiding your most private parts. Saliva pools in Osamu’s mouth at the sight, his teeth pressing against one another to avoid betrayal. He’s still unsure of what’s his next step until your heel digs on his shoulder painfully, using him as leverage to prop yourself up on the high table. 

His eyes snap to yours while he bite his tongue to not curse you out loud.  There’s a gun on top of his head that is a big warning for Osamu to behave -- not that he’d have the chance to escape with the watchdogs outside his only exit. If he had, you could be dead already. 

Your suit threads up when you move up and slide on the table, the white silk panties peeking in between your open thighs. You move your beretta calmly off his face and thread it slightly, almost fondly, over your naked thigh. 

You make a small show of removing your finger from the trigger and depositing it far on the table, enough to be out of his reach and almost yours too. You look back at him once you’re empty handed and just so open right there on the table for him. 

“Behave, Osamu. You know you wouldn’t make it very far.”

Osamu grits his teeth but nods, your heel still supported on his shoulder but not digging on his skin anymore. You lay slightly back against his tabletop, forearms resting on the surface carefully. Dressed in a white, stylish suit like the last trend, the skin in between so bright it feels like a taunt, the curves of your breasts so ripe he wants to taste, the closed lapels looking like his own pathway to sin. He can feel his blood boiling, aggression throbbing, and he wants to paint you in red.

“Well then,” You start, happily above him, spread like a meal, “Show me if you’re good enough to pay your debt. Consider this your warrant.”

“Don’t worry.” Osamu drawls out with dripping distaste, his hand slowly, almost bored, threading up from your ankle to your knees. “I’ll fuck ya like you want it. Within an inch of your life.”

His hands lock on the back of your knees and he parts them forcefully, while you leave a yelp followed by laughter, your head thrown back with glee. 

You smell of flowers and spice, so expensive he was surprised that you weren’t dripping fucking gold. His palms slide through the back of your thigh and the skin under his fingertips is soft and firm, all shapes of heaven despite being in sole service of the devil. 

Osamu starts slowly, the table leaving you open just at the height of his neck while he’s kneeled on the ground, at the perfect height. His thumb presses on your skin while he holds one of your legs up, brings his lips to your knee. There’s a welcoming stain on your panties, and he scoffs at you despite the way his cock responds on his trousers. 

“I haven’t even started and you’re already wet?” The way you smile at him is both infuriating and bewitching. 

“What? Didn’t you enjoy our little foreplay earlier?” You tease him, plump lips locked under a row of teeth with mirth. His skin feels prickling and Osamu decides he needs more room, roughly pushing on your thighs until he can fit between them with room to spare.

It’s not fair, how good you feel, the delicious smell of your skin, the way your taunt alights him with fire in his veins. 

Osamu knows it’s bait -- and he’s willingly falling for it.

When his lips start to thread on the inner part of your knee and up, the twin does it with the intention to mark; he sucks instead of kissing, licks instead of caressing, and bites once he finds the plush meat of your inner thighs.

It stings and you let the smallest of sounds, but Osamu feels it in his gut, brings his hot tongue to soothe over it, bask in the way you tremble under his fingertips just enough for him to sink his teeth and revel in the pain on your groan. 

His nose treads along the furthest expanse of the joining of your thighs, touches the silk of your expensive panties, senses the way you tense and watches while your pussy trembles, even while still covered by fabric.

He considers holding back his tongue, but Osamu has never been the type to be held back by the threat of punishment. And you’ve shown to clearly enjoy his fiery side.

“Such an eager pussy right here, isn't it?” He threads his nose against the wet patch in the silk, carefully breathes against the covered lips. Osamu lets one of his shoulders bear one leg and brings his thumb to pass over the growing wet patch. “Sticky.” He presses it from the wetness to the place where your clit should be, watches as you respond to his touch with aborted movement. “Such a slut.” It’s supposed to be degrading, but there’s a hint of appreciation in his words that isn’t lost on you. “Is this all it takes for my debt? It’ll be finished in a second then.”

Your mouth opens to retort but closes in time to withhold a moan before it falls through your lips. His thumb’s pressing against your clit in tight circles while the index of his other hand threads over your covered cunt. Turns out Osamu has moves to back up the big talk. 

He’s methodical, clearly good and deft with his fingers, controlled pressure applied in a way that has you writhing on the table despite your intention to make this hard on him. Your desire to make him work for it, apparently, is no match for his. 

Osamu presses the tips of his fingers on your clothed entrance, enough force that it barely breaks inside you but the teasing has you churning on the table for him, legs trying to part beyond limits, body arching where it’s been relegated. Your chest feels hot and heavy despite the little clothing. You’re hoping for the moment where he’ll tease the hard nipples pressing against the flimsy lace of your bralet and the inside of your suit with the same intensity he’s depositing on your cunt.

Osamu, on the other hand, has no rush. You did this, gave this opportunity for him to wreck you, and he plans on enjoying it to the bitter end. He’s fairly surprised at how responsive you are, how quickly you melt for him, how vocal you can be despite doing little more than grunts and sighs. A thought flashes through his mind when he feels a renewed wave of wetness blossom against the fabric where his fingers are pressing, his lips turning in a self-satisfied smirk.

“Have you been so desperate for a good cock you’ve resorted to blackmail?” Your eyes snap open at his voice, a warm wave of something that you refuse to believe in being embarrassment depositing in your cheekbones. Osamu’s fingers prod harder against your entrance, fingers spreading against the wet fabric to your outer lips while his thumb keeps drawing endless circles around your clit. “Tsk, what a dirty move from an even dirtier slut.” 

He slaps your clit once, then twice, his bulking frame preventing you from closing your legs against the sudden pain. Your body trembles on unsteady forearms. You choke on a breath and then release a moan, the sound outrageous to Osamu even as his cock throbs from it. 

“Maybe I’ll give ya what you want.” The Miya teases, his voice sounding even despite the turmoil inside him. You look up at him with such eyes he could fool himself into thinking he wanted this. 

His fingers teether on the edge of your underwear, rough fingertips just daring to cross into the emanating heat. Your hips twitch, the emptiness inside you accentuated by your muscles clenching around nothing, desire pouring out against the prodding fingertips. Osamu snorts, throws you a hard stare that is equal parts fire and contempt. 

“You’re so wet. Are you enjoying this that much?” It drips acidic from his tongue against your neck, after he bends himself over you. From so close, Osamu’s warm breath is the same as a caress, his tongue teasing you with the way it threads over his lips but doesn't extend the courtesy to your skin. “You’re rather easy to rile up, hah? Or is it that you enjoyed playin’ with me before?” His teeth flash white above your head and you swallow around the desire of having them plunging on your skin. “How was it ya said? Foreplay, hah?”

You feel weirdly wound up inside your own skin, as if there’s not enough space and still a growing void inside you waiting for him to fill. It’s insane, it’s delicious, and a loud moan breaches your throat when Osamu plunges two fingers inside you without warning. 

Your body arches in such a curve your breasts press against his chest, the relieving brush too shallow to register in your brain when you’re hyper fixated on the sensation brewing inside you. 

It doesn’t even sting, instead you feel like your hunger escalates, fed by such little push that your want becomes need and for the first time in forever you actually consider asking for something. 

Your mouth opens, and Osamu snickers. “What?” He presses his thumb over your clit fast, relinquishes in the way you groan, feels the way your insides beg him to keep going. 

Still not enough though. He wants it ruined for you. 

“Maybe I’ll just make you cum on my fingers right here.” He spreads, scissor and twists them inside you, enjoying the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him at his every move. Osamu’s skin feels on fire, body overheating, and the way your lips turn up to reveal a line of white teeth in glee has his gut twisting. 

“You have a pretty loose tongue for such a quiet guy.” You look at him with semi-closed eyes, the victorious smile of the cat who got the mouse. “Maybe you like me more than you thoug--ahhhhh!”

Osamu shoves and prods around your insides for that special place even demons like you have and his assault is nothing short of merciless. Your eyes snap open at the force of his ramming, eyebrows furrowing at the way your pleasure seems to have forgone climb to skyrocket instead. Osamu watches in begrudging enchantment while your lips fall open to suck air into your breathless lungs and your eyes grow unfocussed, shoulders falling against the table so your hands can come to hold his arms but for what he doubts even you know. 

He’s not stopping. Until he does. 

You let out a noise like a wounded animal, tethering on the edge of mind numbing pleasure he won’t give you and when your body trembles from exertion of a denied orgasm instead of bliss, Osamu’s chest swells in pride.

“Whydidyoustop?” You lament in one breath, eyes are blinking back into focus, sweat and - oh he hopes those are tears - droplets dripping from the corner of your eyes while you turn to press your face on the cold metal surface of the table. “I was so close!” This time you rage, nails pressing against his skin enough to hurt.

“Wadidya mean?” Osamu tilts his head sideways, patronizing. “You didn’t ask for it. I’m just doing what you told me: being respectful.”

You laugh, still breathless, and turn to him in disbelief. “Fucker.”

“Not yet,” He corrects you, nuzzling his hips on your thighs. “Maybe if you ask nicely enough.”

Osamu retreats while you regulate your breath, letting your useless legs fall limp while both of his hands come to help your panties down, marveling at the way they’re peeled off your wet pussy lips. His cock aches and demands, but he’s used to reining in his dick. And he’s just started, anyway.

The Miya pushes you forward on the table, opening your legs wide like a treat. Your pussy is glistening, rhythmically calling for something to fill it while you leak. He plunges a finger back inside to watch you tremble, stimulation enough to make your eyes fall closed, long black lashes against beautiful sweaty skin. 

“Look at this.” Osamu plunges a second finger inside, opening them wide enough to sting. “What a desperate whore.” 

Your mind is swirling in urge, but you refuse to spill the words on your tongue. It would give you what you want, but at what cost? Osamu looks positively ferocious above you, dark eyes focused on your every move; it sends shivers through your spine, your body trembling and blossoming for him once again. You’re in your personal heaven, in company of the devil himself.

Osamu kneels again in front of your open legs, hook one on his shoulder while he holds the other thigh forcefully up with a grip so hard your muscle aches under his fingers. But you don’t care, in fact  you sigh “more” for him right as his breath teases your folds.

“No.” He tells you, two fingers pumping at leisure. His tongue slurps at your inner thigh, teeth closing in a bite with nothing to sooth. 

“Fuck.” You breathe out in a groan and his smirk is pronounced against your skin. 

Osamu, as you’re learning, is a tease.

His moves are soft, lacking in everything but aim; his tongue moves along the sensitive parts of your body you’ve never really cared for, like the plush flesh of your thighs, underside of your ass, the juncture of your groin. He has yet to taste you but you feel wounded, body constricted under weak ministrations, feather-like teases. It sinks with a piercing revelation that you could cum like this -- in an unfulfilled manner with not-good-enough touches that somehow have made your body feel raw like an exposed nerve in which the minimum touch would be enough to warrant waves of pleasure.

When his tongue comes to thread along your slit slowly, nose caressing along his way, your body clenches and threatens to spasm around unmoving fingers. You’re so close, so close, your body is ready to burst, fraying at the seams of a control you’re not using, your hands flying to try and find your clit at the same time Osamu’s eyes flash and he holds it, presses it forcefully against your belly while his lips slurp at your folds, circle your clit, but it’s so soft, it’s fucking unfair.

“Goddammit, Osamu!” You scream, enraged at the way your second orgasm flies away from you as his fingers leave your quivering hole, his mouth doing nothing more than lap at your overflowing juices with no real worry, no urgency.

“Oh, look at that.” The Miya smirks, drawing back up to look at your disheveled state; flustered, sweating, dripping and unattended. “You wanted a taste.” His hand comes back to your cunt, fingers thread along puffy lips. “I’m giving it to you.”

“You bastard.” His fingers leave your heat just to plunge inside again, a loud gushing sound following it. “Shit.” You sigh while falling back, and Osamu feels his cock throb once more at how breathless you sound. 

Your mind works around the feeling of being spread so far you feel as if you’re paper thin. Your mind goes rushing in its last attempt at working. Osamu looks self-satisfied, almost content, so you know where to hit. You want it, so you find a way to have it. 

“Oh, poor Miya--” You coo at him with a hoarse voice in glazed eyes, but the condescending tone is clear as day. “Are you trying to hurt me?” You plant a hand on his black hair, pulling at it enough to hurt.  “‘Cause I like pain.”

Fire explodes in his eyes and you tighten around his fingers in response, but other than his frown, Osamu remains calm. 

He slams three fingers inside before you can mouth any new words, smirks down at you with mischief when you tremble and bite your lips to hold the noises in, eyes falling back closed to hide the way they turn inside your skull. His other hand is holding your thigh forcefully open once again and his palm presses with hurtful intention, fingertips buried in your flesh so hard his digitals may mark you for days.

“Let you cum on my fingers and nothing else, is that going to be enough for you?” Osamu snarls against your ear, hot breath tickling your jaw. His hips hold you open to his assault at your pussy and his hand abandons your thigh to glide over your body and close around your throat. 

Osamu squeezes hard.

“Then again I could ruin your orgasm for the third time.” He bends over you, his lips right in front of your sight; eyes looking down at you with such fire you almost wonder if they’re the cause for the burn in your lungs. “Leave you writhing on the table, empty, until you learn to have a little respect.” 

This. 

Your lips spread in a smile almost maniacal, goosebumps rising on your skin as if you’re electrified. This is what you’ve wanted all along -- passion, fearless assault of words, electrifying pleasure; and also, the detachment, the murderous intent, all merging together in one perfect Osamu Miya. Shit, you think to yourself, at this hate you may actually come from his teasing alone.

“You talk too much for someone who didn't make me cum yet.” You pour gasoline into his fire. 

Osamu pulls you up by the lapels of your suit, button flying open at the hastiness, your breasts protected by such a flimsy piece of lace you’re surprised it doesn’t turn to ash at his stare. Your hard nipples mark the white bralet, the air feeling cold at how hot they are. 

A hand covered in your juices closes on your cheeks, forcefully opening your lips at the threat of pain, his fingers with lingering heat from your insides.

“Such a big mouth, should I shut you up?” Osamu asks you, eyes boring on yours. The plea is on the point of your tongue as if he’d shoved his hand inside you to yank it himself, and it tips out when his dark eyes steal one single snippet of your smeared red lips open by his hands.

“Fuck me.” 

He nods negatively, presses hard enough that your teeth could cut your inner cheeks. He relents and your tongue grazes your lips, moistening them for his eyes.  

Osamu smiles, a tilt of his lips up but so earnestly you’re almost hopeful, then: “No.” 

Even if as he says it, it’s a lie. He knows he’ll fuck you, but right now he’s enjoying the build-up, toying with you as if you’re his plaything and not the opposite. You growl and curse, head falling back when he palms at your covered breasts, push the lace up, hears the way it strains and threatens to rip. 

It’s oddly relatable -- Osamu also feels taut, stretched around a fleeting control that he feels will slip with one dip inside you. His past sexual experiences involved partners who he cherished and few one-night stands which, for the small time his dick was inside them, he was mindful and cared for their pleasure. 

Right now, while he pinches and palm at your body, he has not a single worry about your pleasure and all the concern about his. This is for him. He bends his head over your bosom, sucks a nipple inside the hot cave of his mouth and bites. As his cock twitches and aches inside his trousers, he relishes in the pained noises you leave, even when they’re marked by breathless arousal.

“You sure are fucked up. Look how much you’re enjoying this.” His fingers force the howl of your cheeks, feeling your teeth nicking the insides of your mouth even through layers of flesh. There’s an infuriating elation in your expression, and Osamu retaliates by sucking harshly on your skin, teeth finding soft places to close on.

You moan loudly and his hand slides back onto your throat in the motion. Your hand shots up from the table to find his hard dick and your laugh makes his blood boil. “Clearly I’m not the only one.”

His heartbeat spikes at the words, even if Osamu knows it. The twin pulls the suit jacket half-down your arms and slams your body on the slight cold surface of the metal table, noise sounding thunderous but still no one comes after you. 

Your skin erupts in goosebumps at the aggression, blood flying so fast through your heart you feel lightheaded. You’re about to spit some more fire into Osamu when two of his fingers gag you, other hand descending on your ass with such force and so unexpectedly your legs give out, dangling from the table as if you’re a ragdoll.

Something remarkably close to a whine turning sob slides through your throat and dies at Osamu’s fingers, just as something big and hot surges over your ass cheeks. Something coils on your chest, the emotion makes your eyes water and for a moment you blink it away, thanking the new position doesn’t let Osamu catch that. 

Too soon. Osamu pulls your head back as his hand peels the globes of your ass apart and before you can breathe, the little air inside you is being knocked out with one thrust of Osamu’s hip.

He forces his dick inside you, tearing you open as your walls make way for his aggression, wetness dripping while Osamu fills you to the hilt, because yes, that's what you want. You want his hate, his passion, you want Osamu to tear you apart while you enjoy every second of it.

“‘Samu!” His name is on your lips as your eyes roll back, whole body tensing until you’re falling, just like that. 

Then he retreats. “Fuck! Fuck no!” This time it’s a wail, a sob as your third orgasm turns to ashes, your insides trembling with nothing to hold, empty and meager pleasure. 

“Wha--Cummin’ already? Nope.” The twin laughs above you, hands tilting your head painfully back. “So embarrassing.” Osamu mocks you and you swear you can feel a renewed wave of cream slide down your insides to greet the head of his cock, nudging along your swollen lips. Your tongue feels so heavy on your mouth, parched and breathless all at once, no way out but silence. 

“You are disgusting, you know that? Such a greedy fucking pussy doesn’t deserve to be this tight.” 

Your laugh turns into a deep moan when Osamu hits deep inside you. “God yes.” You twist one hand out of the suit’s sleeve just to pull him by the hem of his blouse, your nails digging against the skin of his neck, blooming red yelts. “Talk shit to me Osamu. I know you have better lines.”

“Fuck you.” The twin spits, his hips pistoning harder against yours until he just stops the motion, leaves you open and gapping for him to fill you again. “Of course a pig like ya has the hots for humiliation. Look at that, the slut’s pussy squeezing around my dick because she thinks I'm doing this for her pleasure.” His hand comes down on the other side of your ass, where he hasn't hit yet. It stings, but the way his palm massages and grabs at it before almost soothes the burn. “Disgusting sluts don’t get to say anything, not even begging will get you what you want. I decide what you get."

You look back from your shoulder to see his cock is standing proud and angry, swollen head shining red and dripping translucent white, as if he hadn't been wet from your juices before. Osamu’s big, especially thick and he presses inside you again without giving you time to adjust, unforgiving pace right from the start.

You curse at the way one of your hands keeps locked behind you by your suit, your nails digging on your own skin without anything else to find purchase on; the other tries to grab onto Osamu to no avail, falling on the table to help support yourself at the strength of his pounding.  Your mouth is open, divided between sucking breaths and puffs of air. Osamu’s hand has since found purchase in your neck, the way he forces it back painful, the pressure on your throat growing and ceasing as he wishes. 

Still, you can’t think. Your mind is lost in a sea of searing pleasure, your nipples pressed against the metal surface as Osamu finally fucks you as you’ve been dreaming. No, maybe even better. The past men you’ve fucked had all been afraid of hurting you, careful with retaliation. As Osamu fists your hair and forcefully presses you against the table; you think you may be having a religious experience. Your eyes water from the force of his manhandling, tears spilling while you left unbelievable noises fall from your lips. You want to scream and laugh, a hot sensation spreading from your fingertips to your core. 

The wave of the orgasm is forming quickly, your toes curling against the insides of your Louboutins enough to hurt, the incessant pounding of Osamu’s hips against your ass sounding downright pornographic. As the peak approaches, doubt gnaws at your chest for the first time in forever. 

The simple thought of Osamu robbing you of your orgasm this time is enough to make your whole body tremble and recoil, your mind too slow to catch on to his intentions. You consider biting your tongue to hold the plea in, but as you bolt into mind-blowing pleasure you’ve never even imagined before, the alternative feels like dying.

You’re tethering the edge and you feel Osamu pressing harder against you, and you break. “Please!” You cry out, “Pleasepleaseplease, don’t stop.” His movements slow down and halt, and the hand on your ass slides around you, a single finger taps repeatedly on your swollen clit. 

“Say it.” He all but howls at your ear, bites on it for good measure.

“Please, ‘samu, let me fucking cum!” You beg but you’re already falling over, whole body shuddering just from the way he nudges his hips against your ass and taps on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Panic surges in between your pleasure that he’ll ruin this one when he retreats from your quivering insides, but Osamu rams back inside you with such power that your head rattles, hips hurting from the impetus of his fucking. 

Sound rings in your ear while you drown in the thunderous waves of your pleasure for what feels like forever. It flows and flows and flows to a point you can’t tell if you’re seeing black or just closed your eyes. 

Osamu watches, enthralled, how you go completely boneless under him. Your insides have stopped squeezing him tight but his hard, aching cock still throbs inside your heat. It’s honestly unbelievable how tight you feel around him, how fantastic he feels buried balls deep inside your walls. He had to stop trying to fuck you through your orgasm in worry he’d may cum. Poison and pleasure curl in his chest at the thought. Osamu feels like spanking you, choking you, to punish you for this undeserving heaven you have between your thighs.  

But he’s not done yet.

Osamu retreats, the slide of his cock leaving your delicious walls -- cold air from outside so less welcoming -- and you sag on the table. He pulls you up on unsteady legs and smirks, proud. Your bare feet touch the ground and Osamu spins you around, swallowing on a tight throat after one look at your disheveled blissful state, but then he retreats and let’s you collapse to the ground.

The image of your legs sliding open on the cold tiled floor, unsteady hands finding purchase to hold your torso up while your head looks up at him in outrage is one he sears in his mind, a wicked satisfaction sliding over his spine at the sight alone. The wreck of you at his feet, by his hands, nothing short of perfect. 

His cock throbs and pulses in front of your eyes, dragging your attention and Osamu steps closer, poses one hand on the top of your head, ruins the rest of your styled hair by dragging fingertips in it. 

 You’re still lightheaded, shockwaves making you twitch on the cold floor and Osamu is elated at how wrecked you look, makeup smeared, hair disheveled, body holded up by unsteady arms. Your lips are open, between breathless pulls of air and heavy exhales, but Osamu doesn't care, hands forcefully tugging your hair back and angling your mouth at his swelled cockhead. He counts as a win that you don’t bite him, your tongue threading flat on the underside of his length as he buries himself on your throat. 

There’s resistance, so the Miya retreats, forcing it back a few other times until it finally slides a few inches more inside. While he maintains the force over your hair, his other hand engulfs your chin, thumb breaching your lips to hold your mouth open despite the fact you don’t make any move to close it. 

It feels his chest with acidic bitterness that you welcome his aggression, glazed, tearful eyes looking up at him as if the fact he’s using you as little more than a cocksleeve is the brightest part of your day. Still, Osamu’s skin feels close to tearing under the sheer amount of pleasure flooding his insides. His hairs are standing on end, heart beating so fast his lungs burn, every muscle on his body tensed at his mindless pursuit of his high. He buries his cock deep inside the tight space of your throat, your gurgles and groaning enhancing his sensation. It looks painful to you to hold him inside, tears ending your makeup, face turning red at the lack of air. He closes both hands behind your head, making you nuzzle his pelvis even as your nails close on his thighs threatening to break skin.

He retreats to let you breathe just as your eyes go unfocused, feels something squeezing inside as you cough and wheezes and his throat squeezes a large gulp of air when you look up at him, tongue hanging out with a wide-open mouth just offered for him.

Osamu feels like hurting you at how good you are, infuriatingly obedient and willing to be at the end of his aggression. So he buries himself back inside at one go, both hands holding your head for him. There’s too much chaos inside of him, so he decides to pour some out through words.

“You like being used like this, huh? Like little more than a fucking cocksleeve for me.”

“What is it? Does being in power make you this needy? Does being wrecked make you feel this good?” Your groan makes your throat tighter around him, your eyes rolling back from his fucking and degradation.

It’s unfair, infuriatingly so, that this might be the most unbelievable great sex he ever had. 

Osamu can’t hold back much longer, everything feeling just too good, his skin burning at the stretch of the tourbillion of emotions inside his chest, the captivating sight of tears dropping from your jaw and coating your long lashes as your face darkens by the lack of air, swollen lips stretched beyond capacity around his cock while you willingly let him go harder, faster, into your tight throat. There’s a warm sensation flowing from his limbs to his spine, melting his bones and weighing on his balls until it spreads over Osamu’s whole being.

He pulls back from your throat in time but presses his hands on your jaw and hair to keep you up and open as he coats your wrecked face with hot spurts of cum -- the final touch to the perfection of your wrecked image at his feet.

It lands haphazardly over your lips and even your eyelashes, tear-stained mess of a face marked by his essence. Osamu tells himself he could never feel anything towards you, but for a second there’s a hint of territorial pride at how you look -- and how it is all his doing. The twin is still swimming in searing pleasure as you lick over your lips, hands almost fondly landing over his as if you're assuring him that he can let go.

He does, trying to step back and slowly descending onto the ground when his knees give out. His eyes are glued to how his cum is dripping from your chin onto your chest, how you bring your fingers to sweep over it and end it by cleaning the digits with your tongue. If Osamu’s cock wasn’t so spent, he’s sure it’d swell right back up at the sight alone.

“Can’t say what’s better,” your hoarse voice is barely above a murmur, “the taste or the feeling.”

As you’re standing on unsteady legs and already fixing yourself while he sits on the floor questioning his life choices, Osamu feels as if he’d made a deal with the devil, and you’ll be coming back to collect his soul.

“Seems like the start of a nice partnership, doesn’t it?” 

--